


Invisible

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Existential Angst, Flirting, Fluff, Gerard is invisible, Invisibility, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, because reasons, but only to Jon, kissing the invisible man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: “Well that was rude.” Tim’s voice cut through the silence of the Archive.“Hmm?” Jon looked over from the shelf he was organizing. “What was rude?”“You. You were rude. Completely ignoring that guy like that.”“What guy?”“Are you serious?” Tim asked incredulously. “The tatted up goth that was just talking to you.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Well that was rude.” Tim’s voice cut through the silence of the Archive.

“Hmm?” Jon looked over from the shelf he was organizing. “What was rude?”

“You. You were rude. Completely ignoring that guy like that.”

“What guy?”

“Are you serious?” Tim asked incredulously. “The tatted up goth that was just talking to you.”

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re the only ones in the Archive. Martin is off with Melanie following up on a statement. It’s just us down here.” Jon paused, “Wait, did you say ‘tatted up goth’? The tattoos...They didn’t happen to be eyes did they?”

“Yeah, dyed black hair, stylized eye tattoos just… everywhere. Kinda hot, not my usual type but still. How could you have possibly missed him? He was standing right there talking to you.”

The Archivist inhaled sharply, “Tim, I need you to go after him and get him back here.”

“What? I don’t--”

“There’s no time to explain except that I think that might have been Gerard Keay. I  _ need  _ to talk to him.”

“Then why didn’t you-”

“Tim!”

“Right, fine, on my way.” Tim half jogged out of the Archives and up the stairs beyond.

_ Gerard Keay, here? Now?  And why couldn't I see him? _

An odd memory tickled at the back of the Archivist’s brain. One of the first statements he’d come across working in the Archives, the third of fourth that needed to go on tape. He’d remembered  _ Ex Altiora _ of course, after his recent encounter with Mike how could he ever forget.

It was something else that caught in his memory now. In the description of Pinhole Books, a painting of an eye made by Gerard for his mother. There was something written underneath it that kept slipping from his mind. The first time he had read the words he had unknowingly crossed them out. At the time, Jon had assumed he had been overtired from his new position as Head Archivist but now…

Gerard Keay was obviously tied to Beholding in some way but perhaps he had found a way to mitigate its influence. That would be very useful skill to have. Unfortunately for Jon, it would seem hiding from Beholding also meant hiding from him.

Sitting down at one of the spare desks, Jon put his head in his hands. If he can’t see Gerard does it mean that he is becoming less and less Jonathan Sims and more the Archivist? He shuddered at the thought. 

Jon felt a comforting hand land on his shoulder.  He expected to see Tim standing there when he looked up with an apology for not finding Gerard. What he did not expect was to see nothing at all. 

Adrenaline flooded his body as he pulled away from the phantom touch. “What is going on? Gerard Keay? Is that you?” He cast his eyes around, willing himself to See the person there with him. 

There was a tug on his hand. Jon attempted to pull away but the invisible grip on his wrist tightened. His hand was drawn to something, a note, on the desk in front of him. Then he was released. 

He picked up the note with an unsteady hand to read.

 

Jonathan, 

We should meet, but not here

I gave your assistant the when and where 

DO NOT bring a recorder

Don’t discuss this in the Institute, especially not in the Archive

 

“What? I-- alright” 

There was another squeeze on his shoulder followed by a light pat on his back then it was gone. Jon crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket. Best not to leave something like that out in the open. 

A few minutes later he was standing outside of the Institute casting about for Tim. Jon spotted him at a cafe across the way. The two men locked eyes and Tim waved him over. 

“Very charming fellow, your Gerard.” Tim practically cooed, glancing briefly away. 

“He’s not  _ my Gerard _ , Tim. Nevermind all that, what did he say?”

“He’s worried about you, Jon. Wants to help.” 

“Okay?” 

Jon made to sit in the chair opposite Tim, who started to protest the action.  By the time Jon caught his meaning, it was already too late. He landed awkwardly on what must have been Gerard Keay’s lap. He fumbled to get his feet back under him and nearly fell trying to stand. Jon adjusted his jacket in an attempt to recover his lost dignity. Judging from Tim’s near hysterical laughter, it wasn’t helping. 

“Um, sorry, I didn’t see you were there.” Jon directed to the empty, but not at all empty chair and cleared his throat. 

He shot a warning look at Tim and pointed to another chair at the table, “Is this one occupied?”

Still choking back giggles, Tim managed to nod an affirmative. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask Santa Gerard what you want for Christmas though?”

Jon sat stiffly in his chair. “Are you quite finished? I believe we have business to attend to.”

Tim glanced at the empty chair and erupted in fresh laughter. 

“What is so funny, Tim?” the Archivist asked dryly. 

Tim’s laughter hitched to a stop, “He said, ‘Business  _ of _ pleasure.’” he gave his head a bit of a shake, “Christ Jon, don’t  _ do _ that. It really kills the mood”

“Do wha-- Oh. I’m sorry Tim, I didn’t mean to”

“It’s fine.” he sighed, “On the up side, I’m getting better at being able to tell when you’re doing it. So that’s something, I guess?”

“Well still, I’ll be more careful.”

“Anyway, Mr. Keay here,” he paused, “sorry, Gerard, here has a… Well, he has a proposition for you.”

“A what now?”

“You heard me. I’m here as an intermediary so he doesn’t have to keep passing you notes like a schoolchild.” 

Jon looked around at the cafe. “Is this really the best place for this?” He nodded to where the facade of the Magnus Institute could clearly be seen through the plate glass window of the cafe.  

“Yep!” Tim said, popping the p at the end of the word. “Something about a kind of blind spot this close to the Archives.  Like how you can’t really see your own nose unless you actually focus on it.”

“Hmm, that might explain how the Prentiss situation managed to get to the point it did.”

Tim paused again, nodding his head along with whatever Gerard was saying. “It was definitely a factor.” He started absentmindedly scratching his arm where Jon knew there to be a cluster of worm scars. Tim caught himself and placed his hand deliberately on the table. 

Turning to face Jon more fully, he flashed a big grin. “We’re not here to revisit war stories, we’re here for me to seduce you by proxy.” 

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You are taking far too much... glee in this conversation”

“Damn right I am! I get to do something in defiance of our ‘masters’. Proper active defiance, none of this running away or moping bullshit. I haven’t felt this alive in a while. The fact that it makes you adorably uncomfortable is just a bonus.”

“Very well,” Jon sighed, “off you go then.”

Tim leaned forward conspiratorially, “Right! So before we start, a few rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yes, rules, for everyone’s protection.”

“Fine.”

“Rule number one, you will not ask Gerard any questions directly. You are to go through me for that. In fact, at least for now, just try not to talk to him at all.”

“Why?”

“That right there.” Tim sighed, “Goddammit Jon, you said you’d be more careful.”

Jon looked down at his hands and mumbled an apology. He jumped slightly when he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Gerard gave him a bit of a squeeze and the touch faded. 

“Gerard can hide from Beholding and,” Tim gestured to Jon, “it’s agents but he can’t risk getting compelled. He won’t feed it Jon, not if he can help it. So for now at least, you talk to me. If you slip, there’s not much I can tell you and less damage that can be done.

“Rule number two, this can never be discussed in the Archives. We probably should avoid talking about it in general but  _ especially _ in the Archives.”

“No talking directly to Mr. Keay and no discussing him in the Archives. Anything else?” Jon tried to divest himself of his  _ hunger  _ for knowledge at the question.

Tim stared at the space Gerard should be for a bit, before answering, god that was bizarre to watch. 

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. And he prefers to be called Gerard.” Tim rubbed his hands in anticipation, “Now for the fun part!”

Jon groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, you love it!” Tim teased, “A mysterious stranger wants to sweep you off your feet!”

“Okay, but why?” 

“You need to form some connections in the world. Person to person, the more  _ intimate _ the better.” He paused to receive instruction, “I have been informed by the esteemed gentleman to your right that I’m coming on a bit to strong. He means ‘intimacy’ as in deep personal connections not necessarily in the more… physical aspects. Though the two often overlap.” he winked.

Giving Tim a withering look, Jon crossed his arms and waited for him to continue. 

“Look boss, that place,” he pointed to the Institute, “is pushing you away from humanity. You have always been on the solitary side but lately you’ve been cutting yourself off more and more. You are becoming more detached, clinical. Becoming more Archivist. And Gerard here want to help reverse some of that.”

Jon stiffened at the word “Archivist”.  He didn’t like being reminded that he was quite likely a some _ thing _ instead of a some _ one. _ If Gerard was legitimately here to help, then it was worth hearing him out, so to speak.

“And me getting laid is supposed to help with that?” Jon scoffed.

“Frankly, yes. It is a very effective way to establish a connection with another person. But we can start with cuddling if you prefer.” 

“Wait,  _ we? _ ”

“Well, yes.” Tim said, “I want in on this.”

Jon started to stutter a noise of protest.

“Wait, hear me out, Jon. You need human connections, and I need you to see me as a person, not a means to gather more information. Also, I need something to hold on to that doesn’t belong to the Institute, something to keep me sane. Besides, you’re going to need help… navigating if you can’t actually see or hear the suave and handsome Gerard.”

Jon felt but did not see the hand that placed itself gently over his own. He looked back and forth from his hand to where he assumed Gerard’s face to be several times. An emotion he couldn’t place filled Jon’s chest. Somewhere between confusion and a desperate need for human contact.  He was not normally a touchy feely person but something about Gerard's touch made him feel, calmer somehow. Safer? 

Whatever it was, Jon didn’t want it to stop. He held his hand very still so as not to startle away the invisible weight there. Looking down at were it should be, he wished he could See the other man’s hand there.

The touch retreated immediately and Jon felt a light smack on the back of his head. 

“Stop that!” Tim scolded, “do you want to give us all away?”

“W-what? Oh! Goddammit, I didn’t…” the Archivist wearily rubbed his eyes. 

Tim had a point about needing to be seen like a person. Elias was very keen on Jon divesting himself of any and all emotional attachment, especially when it came to his staff. 

“Okay Mr. Stoker, for argument’s sake, what happens if I were to say ‘yes’ to whatever… this is? Your ‘proposition’ as it were.”

“That is really up to you. A big part of this on your end is going to be about building trust. Neither of us is going to force you to do something you don’t want to. The ideal outcome is that you form real emotional bonds that will keep you grounded in humanity.” 

“Intimate personal contact.”

“Well, like I said, I find that the be the best way to achieve that level of connection.”

“And you don’t think that will... complicate things? I am still technically your boss after all.”

“Seeing as how we can’t discuss any of this at work, I’m not worried. And to speak to workplace power dynamics, we are both solidly under Elias’s thumb at this point. I’m not so sure the boss/employee thing really applies to us anymore.”

“Indeed.”

“You don’t have to think of it as a ‘forbidden office romance’ if it bothers you. I’m viewing it as more as a ‘secret double agent spy thing’ myself.”

“So what, do we all go out to dinner? I’m not sure how I feel about playing a game of telephone while watching a knife and fork floating in midair. Food disappearing into nothingness and that sort of thing.”

Tim laughed, “Gerard says it doesn’t quite work like that. In fact, he’s drinking a coffee now. Do you see any kind of ghost cup?”

“Actually, no.” 

“Try not to think too much about it.”

Jon huffed out a dry laugh.

“No really, Jon. Try not to think too much about it. It could blow our cover.”

“‘Blow our cover’? You really are into the whole spy thing.” 

“What can I say,” Tim shrugged, “it’s kinda hot.” 

Jon rolled his eyes at that. “Whatever you say.” he continued more seriously, “So you really think I’m losing my humanity?”

Tim’s face turned more serious. “I’m not saying I think you’re a monster, Jon. I am worried about you might be slipping away from us. Gerard says his little trick only works if a not insignificant part of yourself is dedicated to a Power. You’re on a slippery slope and we can slow that decent, maybe even pull you back up a bit. If you let us”

They sat in silence for a time while Jon considered their offer. Well, he and Tim sat in silence. Gerard could have been tap dancing on the table and singing opera for all Jon would know. 

“Okay, fine. I’m in. So what now?” 

“I’d say that this was a pretty successful first date. Would you like to continue this… somewhere else? Gerard says he’s got a place we can use.”

Glancing through the window Jon stared at the imposing building beyond. He has work to do but he  _ really _ doesn’t want to go back in there right now. Tim saw the conflict on his face and reached over to place his hand on Jon’s. A third hand joined them. 

Jon took a long, slow breath and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am firmly on team Gerard's Not Dead He's Just Hiding
> 
> "Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call." is the quote under Gerard's eye painting. It being crossed out is a reference to one of the deluxe transcripts from The Magnus Archives Patreon where the Archivist had crossed it out and then jotted a little note about not remembering having done that and apologizing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Gerard Keay’s flat passed in a blur Jon couldn’t recall it an any detail. Only that he frequently felt a guiding hand on his back or arm that he could not see. Familiar landmarks came and went but all out of order and without any context. When he mentioned his confusion aloud Tim had replied with something along the lines of that being the point.

The journey to Gerard Keay’s flat passed in a blur Jon couldn’t recall it an any detail. Only that he frequently felt a guiding hand on his back or arm that he could not see. Familiar landmarks came and went but all out of order and without any context. When he mentioned his confusion aloud Tim had replied with something along the lines of that being the point.

Finally, they arrived at a squat building, or was it a high rise? Jon felt as if he’d had too much to drink. The world didn’t have a spin to it but it stubbornly refused to focus. Tim, to his credit, checked in with Jon frequently; asking after his mental state and assuring him he was safe. Probably? Those interactions were just as fragmented in his memory as the city around him.

A firm hand on the small of his back anchored him to the moment as he was led through the building's front door. The hallway ahead of Jon stretched to seeming infinity and he briefly began to panic. Strong hands gripped either arm and Tim’s face was all he could see.

“Jon? Jon! Look at me, Jon. Focus.”

“W-what? Tim, my head. The hallways- I don’t…”

“Our.. mutual friend,” Tim’s eyes flicked to the left and back again, “was afraid something like this might happen, just not to this extent. Jon, it really is a normal hallway, not one of _that thing's_.” he shuddered. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

Jon grabbed on to the other man’s forearms for dear life. “Almost there?” he slurred.

“Yep, come on.” Tim snaked his arm around Jonathan’s waist to support the stumbling man.

Soon after, they arrived in front of a nondescript door. Jon was leaning heavily on Tim, eyes unfocused, skin ashen.

“Is he going to be alright?” The question was not directed at Jon. “Are you sure? He looks like hell… Right, okay, that makes sense, well as much sense as any of this does.”  

Tim focused his attention on Jon again. “Jon. We’re almost in the clear. I just need you to repeat something for me. Okay?”

“Hmmm? I don’t… don’t… What?”

“Jon, you need to repeat after me and then walk through this door. Got it”

The Archivist nodded drunkenly.

“Grant me the sight that I may not know...”

“Grant me- Grant me the sight… that I may not know.”

“Good job, Jon. Grant me the scent that I may not catch…”

“Grant me… th’ scent that I-I m’not catch.”

Tim nodded encouragingly, “Grant me the sound that I may not call. Come on, Jon. You got this.”

“Grant me… the s-sound? That I- _augh_ ” The Archivist broke off with a cry of pain and clutched his head.

There were hands on his biceps and on the back of his shoulders. Tim’s voice seemed to float around him, offering encouragement. He fought through the haze and discomfort, reaching for that voice.

“T-that I may not, not c-call.”

The pressure in his head released all at once and Jon collapsed through the door onto the floor. Darkness closed around the edges of his vision but did not fully claim him. The sound of Tim's distress was nearly muffled by the blood rushing in his ears.

Jon’s vision cleared to see Tim crouched over him, gently shaking him by the shoulders and asking Jon to answer him. Jon propped himself up on his elbows to see the man in front of him. The motion made him feel slightly light headed but the sensation passed quickly.

“I, uh. I’m… That was- hmm,” Jon shook his head to clear it

“Yeah, something about a side effect of the shrouding, or whatever. You 'reacted poorly', I guess.” He looked up to where Gerard must be standing. “On the plus side, if anyone was “watching” it looks like you had gotten blackout drunk and needed help getting home. So we have our cover story.”

“Where are we?”

“It doesn’t matter, safer if you don’t know exactly. A safe place though. It’s warded or something, which is why you had so much trouble with the door. On the upside, it means that we are free of that damned gaze here.” Tim flipped the double bird with gusto. He waved his hands around, gleefully daring the air to smite him. 

“Right, well I’m feeling much better now too. Perhaps we should get off of the floor.” Jon pushed himself to a standing position and offered a hand to help Tim up.

He looked down to brush himself off and when he looked back Tim was holding two mugs of tea. “Where did you?” Jon said, pointing to Tim’s hands.

“Hmm? Oh, Gerard put the kettle on when we got in. Tea?” he offered.

“Yes, I could rather do with some.” he accepted the proffered mug. “Wait, when we got in? How long was I on the floor?”

“Not long, a few minutes maybe?”

“It only felt like a few seconds.” Jon furrowed his brow. A light tap on his shoulder alerted him to Gerard’s presence and a gentle tug led him in the direction of the overstuffed couch. He sat down, Tim following suit. Jon felt more than saw that Gerard take the seat beside him.  

It was strange, he knew there was a person sitting on the couch. Jon could feel the arm that brushed against his own. Various movies would have him expect to see the indent of an invisible person in the seat of the couch. Looking at the empty spot the Archivist could not detect, visually, anyone there. Just a normal, flat cushion.

“Jon,” Tim said in a warning tone, “Whatever you’re doing, Gerard says you need to stop.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Yes, you are. You need to stop trying to figure everything out, to learn to accept that there are things you don’t know or won’t know.”

Jon’s hackles raised a bit at this. “I can’t help it! I was basically hit by some kind of supernatural rohypnol on the way in here and now I’m having tea with the Invisible Man. It’s been a weird day, even for me. I’m just trying to get my bearings.”

He felt Gerard place a hand on his back and start to rub circles between his shoulder blades. The touch held in it a sense of understanding at and acceptation of Jon’s frustration. Despite himself, Jon felt some of the day’s tension bleed away with each stroke along his back. Tim just looked at him, wait no, looked past him, listening to their companion.

“The long and the short of it is that your curiosity triggers the interest of Beholding. And _that_ is not something we want to have brought to bear on us here. It puts us all in danger. We're warded, yes. But calling its direct attention is going to shred right through those. Besides, we’re trying to separate you from its influence as best we can. The more you can ignore or look away from strange happenings, the better.”

“But what about-”

“Ah-ah!” Tim cut him off, “Yes, you do have some kind of role in,” Tim shrugged, “whatever is coming. We’re not going to cut you off from the things you should know about _that._ Problem is, you’re being driven to learn, to _see_ and _know_ pretty much everything. To gorge on knowledge. We don’t want to feed it as much as that, just enough so that it doesn’t feed on _you._ ”

Jon found himself leaning slightly into Gerard’s slow rubbing on his back and felt the edge of his shoulder come to rest on the other man. “So I need to feed it the occasional snack and keep it away from the buffet?” There was an affectionate scratch at the top of his head he assumed to mean he’d gotten the right of it.

“Yep, there are things you do need to know, to find, and understand, but not everything. This,” his hand indicated the lack of Gerard beside him, “isn’t one of them right now. But for now, how about we just sit here, drink tea, and turn off our brains a bit?”

“That does sound like the easier option”

“Can we please take the easy option?” Tim pleaded.

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Tim stretched before burrowing down on the couch, snuggling up against Jon.

Jon stiffened initially at the contact from Tim. He’d been getting used to the familiar way Gerard would put a hand on his arm or back. It was the only means of direct communication Jon could perceive after all. A way to let Jon know he was there, gentle and polite, but oddly reassuring. Tim’s behavior surprised him though. He was using Jon as a pillow with a level of familiarity he wasn’t sure he shared with the man.

“You okay Jon? You got tense all of a sudden. You’re not feeling sick again?”

“No, I just…” he shifted awkwardly. “You startled me is all. It’s fine.”

“You sure? I can move.”

Jon considered the situation for a moment. Personal connections, seeing others as people and not things. These are the things he would need if he has any hope of keeping his humanity. Jon had always cared for his assistants, in his own way, and never wanted to put them in danger. Sasha had already been lost to the terrible conflict he can't yet understand. He had no desire to repeat that loss or to 'discard' anyone as a means to feed his master.

Jon adjusted his arm to drape it across Tim’s shoulders. “I said it was fine.”

Invitation officially given, Tim leaned in closer and pillowed his head on Jon’s chest.

“Tim?”

“Mmm?”

“I can’t reach my tea with you like that, could you pass it over?”

“No can do, brain off.”  he mumbled into Jon’s cardigan.

“‘Sit here, drink tea, and turn our brains off a bit’ I believe were your words? You seemed to have skipped right to the end.” Jon chided.

“Mm-hmm, I’m an overachiever.”

The rubbing on Jon’s back paused briefly and he was abruptly aware of a warm mug being pressed into his hand. He did not see it leave the low table despite it being fully in his field of vision. It was just, suddenly in his hand. The Archivist was reminded of a jump cut but this was not as abrupt. The world had changed but had not changed, a very odd sensation.  

“Jooooonnnn,” came Tim’s warning, “Gerard says, ‘Drink the tea and turn your brain off.’”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” He sipped his tea, resolving not to dwell on how it had ended up in his hand.

Both of Gerard’s hands were on Jon’s back now. They drifted up to his shoulders and started working the muscles there. He could feel the knots in his back begin to unwind under the other man’s ministrations. His eyes closed and let his head fall forward while a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan escaped his lips.

Jon felt rather than saw Tim turn his head at the noise. “Careful, if he gets any more relaxed he’s liable to spill that tea on my face, and I like my face.”

The massage faded to gentle scratching that traversed the entirety of his back. Gerard shifted his attention to the nape of his neck prompting a shiver from Jon. Before he knew it those fingers were raking themselves through his hair, sending pleasant chills down his spine. Jon’s hair was due for a trim but, as Gerard continued to play with it, Jon was glad for the length.

He barely felt Tim sit up and ease the mug from his fingers. Jon was relaxed to a degree he hadn’t been since before joining the Institute, maybe longer. He made a noise of contentment as Gerard returned to scratching lightly on his neck.

“Jon,” Tim said quietly, just barely above a whisper, “Gerard wants to know if it would be alright to kiss you.”

So lost in the sensations playing across his skin, it took Jon a moment to fully register the question. “Hmm? Oh, I- I guess?”

The contact did not disappear but the motion ceased. He looked up in confusion, meeting Tim’s eyes. Then looking behind him, dislodging Gerard in the process. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

Tim cleared his throat in reproach, “Rule number one, remember? You aren’t supposed to ask Gerard any direct questions.”

Jon’s eyes widened in realization and fear, “Did I-I, um… you know, compel him?”

“As far as he can tell, not this time.” he said gently, “But more to the point, ‘I guess.’ isn’t exactly a yes, Jon. This isn’t about coercion, it’s about trust. That means yes means yes and anything else means no.”

He regarded Tim for a moment, the concern the two of them were showing for him was a bit of a new concept for Jon. The warmth of Gerard at his back and the weight of Tim, practically in his lap at this point, were a comfort he didn’t know he had been missing. Now that he had a taste of it, he discovered that he did indeed want more.

“Well then, my answer is yes. “He paused, “Assuming he still wants to after what I…"

Warm lips pressed against the top of his spine. He felt hot breath against his ear. An arm wrapped around his chest, a hand through his hair, tilting his head back. His eyes slipped closed as he shifted toward the man behind him. He heard himself made a low moan as Gerard continued to press kisses along the side of his neck. Blindly, Jon fumbled his hand to bury it in Gerard’s long hair.  

Jon felt Tim move closer and run a hand along his shoulder. Another hand brushed along his jaw and Jon leaned into the touch. Tim traced his thumb along Jon’s lips and was rewarded with a kiss there. Jon’s free hand seized Tim’s arm and held it there. Jon started planting kisses along it, working his way to the inside of his wrist.

“Oh fuck Jon, I really want to kiss you now too.” Tim breathed.

Gerard made his way from Jon’s neck to his earlobe prompting a hitched intake of breath. He exhaled slowly, his breath raising goosebumps along Tim’s arm. “Yes, please.”

Tim knotted his hand in Jon’s hair and leaned in for a kiss, careful not to knock heads with Gerard on the way. This could get awkward if they weren’t careful but Gerard had shown a, quite frankly, amazing amount of situational awareness so far.

The tug on his hair sent a thrill of adrenaline through Jon’s already thrumming body and Tim’s mouth met his own. Gerard had pushed open Jon’s shirt and was focusing on the area around his collarbone. Tim took full advantage of Jon’s gasp of pleasure. The taste of the now abandoned tea lingered faintly between them as Tim worked his tongue into Jon's mouth.

Everything was a tangle of limbs and sensations. Jon had long since lost track of who was doing what where. Too many and not enough fingers ran themselves across his chest, through his hair, on his face. All the while his own hands making similar journeys across his companions. For a moment, Jon felt like he might fall. Strong hands pulled him back and bodies readjusted to a more stable equilibrium on the couch with barely a hiccup.

At some point Jon had shrugged out his sweater and his half buttoned shirt had been pushed down nearly to his elbows. A head rested on his arm and fingers toyed idly with the hair on his chest. A hand along the back of his neck anchored him in a kiss. They bit down on his lower lip, not hard, but he drew in a sharp gasp as his eyes flew open.

It hadn’t occurred to him that his eyes had been more or less closed since this had all begun. Occasionally, he would blink his eyes open for a moment. He never kept them open for long though, preferring to savor the sense of touch he so infrequently able to indulge.  

This time, what he saw caused him to jerk back in surprise. The empty air where a face should be caught him off guard. The _wrongness_ of the situation tripped all of the switches in his lizard brain and he pulled back. Jon untangled and swiftly pulled away, he put several steps between himself and the other men.

Looking at the couch, Tim looked every bit a possessed teenager from any number of hacky horror movies. The rational part of him was aware that it was due to him being draped over a person he couldn’t see. The rest of him wasn’t listening though, and focused on the way his limbs seemed to hover in strange places and perch in such a way that couldn’t possibly support his weight. He half expected Tim’s head to spin around backwards or for him to start vomiting pea soup.

“What’s wrong?” Tim’s flushed face knitted in concern. “Are you okay?”

Jon’s breathing was quick and shallow. His eyes had gone a bit wild, darting around the room, fighting between looking at the man talking and trying to avoid the scene before him altogether. “I-I- I’m sorry, I just… startled myself is all.” he gulped down two more breaths. “I opened my eyes and what I saw-- The cognitive dissonance was… intense.”

“Ahh,” Tim said relaxing slightly. He began languidly stroking a patch of empty air. “You forgot you were making out with the Invisible Man and your brain snapped a little.”

“Precisely.” Jon nodded, still out of breath.  

Chuckling lightly, Tim shook his head, “‘Cognitive dissonance.’ Dear god, you’re such a nerd.”

“It is an accurate descriptor for the experience.” he said, trying to sound indignant but only managing to come across like a petulant child.

“Fair enough.” he conceded before murmuring, “‘Accurate descriptor.’” under his breath with a laugh.

“Quite.”

A moment stretched between the two (three) men as Jon caught his breath. Tim was humming his satisfaction as he hung impossibly in space, tracing his fingers in designs along an unseen surface.

“Care to join us and pick up where we left off?” Tim asked suggestively.

“No, I think, I think I’m done for now. That was... nice,” he paused looking for better words, he _knows_ he has better words, “more than nice. It was wonderful actually. But that...” Jon gestured vaguely in the air in front of his face and then at Tim’s impression of an unholy contortionist, “rather killed the mood for me.”

Tim began to untangle himself from someone who wasn’t there and Jon had to look away for a moment. The impossibility of what he was seeing both intrigued and nauseated him. He didn’t want to look to hard or think too much about it, he’d been warned against that enough times today.

“How about a nap then?” Tim suggested, walking over to where Jon stood.

Jon tilted his head in confusion, “A nap?”

“Yeah, a nap. I’m betting you sleep even worse than I do, and I sleep like shit.”

“You’re probably not wrong.” Jon laughed dryly.

“If only more people thought that way about me.” Tim smiled wistfully.

“One of life’s great tragedies, I’m sure.”

“It really is.” he nodded. “Well, before your little, ‘ah!’ freak out,” Tim sarcastically mimed a screaming child, “you actually looked like you had managed to relax for once. It was cute.” Tim indicated to somewhere slightly to the left of Jon, “Our gracious host suggests we take advantage of that, maybe get a few hours of real, _actual_ sleep.”

Pressure slowly manifested on his back and Gerard massaged his shoulders again. _Christ, he’s good at that_. Jon felt himself letting go of the tension he had started to gather. He groaned slightly, “That would be nice…”

“Right! Then it’s settled! Everyone into the bed!”

“Tim…” Jon warned.

“What,” he asked innocently, “to sleep. Just sleep. Unless you’d rather…”

“No!” Jon said sharply. The intensity of his response surprised him. He had taken more issue with the teasing tone the other man had used than the actual implication of his words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-- That came out wrong... It’s just… Not now, I’m not ready for that, not yet.”

“I get it, you’re old school. Not until the third date. You don’t want people to think you’re ‘easy’. Don’t worry, Jon. I won’t kiss and tell.” he teased. “Besides, that would break rule number two.”

Color was rising in Jon’s cheeks as he tried to stammer a response.

Tim chuckled to himself a bit before breaking off and frowning. “I have been informed that I’m being and ass and should apologize for winding you up. Though, from what I’ve been told, my ass is one of my better qualities.” He twisted slightly to better display it and nodded in Gerard’s direction with a smile. More seriously, “But I am sorry Jon. I know this is… I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“I know, it’s fine, Tim.” he murmured.

Gerard ran his thumbs up and down Jon’s neck, making it impossible for him to gather any real resentment. His shoulders sagged and his chin fell forward against his chest as Gerard’s practiced hands worked their magic. If this kept up for much longer he was likely to end up a boneless puddle on the floor. “You said something about a bed and a nap?”

“Well, Gerard did, I just relayed the message.”

“Smart man, that Gerard.” Jon sighed in satisfaction that elicited an affectionate scratch at the top of his head. He felt himself being turned around and guided to the flat’s bedroom.

Once in the room he finished taking off his shirt and placed it, folded, on a small dresser.  He pulled off his belt, rolled it up, and laid it on top. Digging his keys and wallet from his pockets he added them to his pile. A crumpled piece of paper landed on the floor by his feet and caught his attention. It was the note Gerard had left for him.

“Gerard?” Jon asked.  

Tim cleared his throat, “The part of Gerard Keay in this evening’s performance will be played by Timothy Stoker.”

“Right, sorry.” Jon said sheepishly, “I was wondering... Why was the note he left me addressed to ‘Jonathan’? It seems all anyone wants to call me-”

“Is Archivist,” Tim cut him off and sighed. He turned to his left, seeming to examine the bedside lamp for advice. “You are the Archivist, Jon. There’s no escaping that. But! It is not _who you are_. Hold on to that. Okay?”

Jon nodded, his face clouded in thought. Gerard took him by the arm and led him to the bed and they sat down. Jon leaned into a chest that wasn’t there and looked up at the other visible person in the room with fear in his eyes. “Even I’ve started to think of myself as the Archivist. That’s bad isn’t it? Oh god, I’m losing myself and I don’t know how much is already gone.”

Tears burned in his eyes, filling them to the brim. Gerard pulled Jon into a firm hug. Panic welled up in his chest as the Archivist stared through the torso he could feel so solidly against his cheek. His breath hitched in his throat and he began to cry.

“Jon, close your eyes.” Tim said softly from beside him.

He did.

Tim settled a hand on Jon’s shoulder from where he stood. “You, are Jonathan Sims, you haven’t lost yourself. That place has taken bites out of everyone there but it can’t have all of you, we won’t let that happen. Just, promise that you won’t try and go it alone again? I think that’s what it wants, to separate us, make us into more effective and specialized _tools_. We need to keep an eye out for each other.

“An eye out, hmm?” Jon remarked with a touch of humor in his voice, his tears now spent.

Tim made a noise of exasperation, “Maybe not the best choice of words, but you know what I mean.”

“I do. Now can we please take that nap I keep hearing about?”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“What?” Jon asked softly, wiping his eyes.

“I was actually talking to Gerard.” he deadpanned.

There was movement behind him causing Tim to duck suddenly. His hair moved in a way that suggested he had not quite managed to dodge a friendly clout to the head.

“Kidding, I’m kidding!” He smiled at Jon, raising his eyebrows and waiting for an answer.

“Can I be the middle spoon?” he asked hesitantly.  

“Done.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday, maybe not too far off in the future, the Archivist will draw comfort from that feeling; of being looked after by something greater than himself, beloved by what he serves. Jonathan lived in fear of that day and what it will mean for his slipping humanity. He chose to draw comfort from his unease and rolled out of bed to start his day.

Something prickled along the edges of his perception drawing Jon toward awareness. He tried to ignore it and return fully to sleep. He was warm and comfortable and not at all ready to face the day ahead. Three days had passed since spending the evening with Tim and Gerard, sometimes he worried it had all been a dream. In his barely conscious state he fumbled to wrap himself in remembered peace and safety. Despite his efforts, the sensation persisted like a light brightening beyond closed eyes. Groaning, Jon rolled over to face the wall. He pulled the blankets over his head and burrowed deeper into a pillow. Unfortunately, the attempt at burying himself away from the ever present _watching_ was unsuccessful. Abandoning all pretense of sleep, Jon reluctantly opened his eyes and stared forlornly at the wall.

Dim light filtered in through the blinds and bounced around the mostly blank walls of his flat. It was early still and he deeply resented being awake. The bed was soft and still warm against the morning’s chill. Jon wanted to collapse back down and sleep for days, but would be willing to settle for another twenty minutes. He was not even sure why he set an alarm anymore, the watched feeling always pulled him from slumber before it has a chance to go off.

Someday, maybe not too far off in the future, the Archivist will draw comfort from that feeling; of being looked after by something greater than himself, beloved by what he serves. Jonathan lived in fear of that day and what it will mean for his slipping humanity. He chose to draw comfort from his unease and rolled out of bed to start his day.

 

* * *

 

“You left early on Friday.”

Jon startled up from the statements he was organizing to see Elias standing over his desk, expression unreadable. He did his best to meet the older man’s steady gaze without fear. “Elias, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Hm.” Elias made no attempt to elaborate, continuing to scrutinize the increasingly uncomfortable Archivist. Jon realized he would need to be the one to break the silence hanging thick in the air.

“Uh, I- Y-yes?” he fumbled for words. “Yes, I left bit earlier than normal.” Pushing down his fear and playing up his confusion, Jon continued. “Is that a problem? I feel like I’ve earned the occasional afternoon off. To recover and clear my head as it were. You were the one lecturing me on moderation.”

“I suppose.” He narrowed his eyes at Jonathan. “Well, don’t make a habit of it, I don’t want you taking after Tim.”

Frustration bubbled up in him at the intrusion in his office. “What do you actually want, Elias? Or did you come all the way down here to lecture me on incomplete timecards?” The pleased smile he saw play over his employer’s features brought him up short. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Elias closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “You’re getting stronger, that’s good.” Jonathan was inclined to disagree but didn’t voice the thought. Composing himself, Elias continued, “Actually, I wanted to discuss any progress you’ve made in your research into the Stranger and Unknowing.”

Jon leaned back in his chair and sighed up at the ceiling. “I’ve had everyone scouring the files for relevant statements. Unfortunately, most of what we dig up ends up in the discredited section; bad drug trips, practical jokes gone wrong, that sort of thing.”

“You do have leads you could be following though.”

“We would have better leads if you gave me those files.” Jon said darkly, returning his gaze to the Institute head.

Elias smiled with an indulgence that did not reach his eyes. “Jon-”

“Don’t ‘Jon’ me, Elias.” the Archivist cut him off. “I’m not some child you can talk down to with a pat on the head and an ‘off you go’. I will not put anyone in danger by sending them into an _obvious_ trap. Especially when you have vital information that could help us at your disposal!”

Elias took a patient breath, “Archivist-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You asked me not to to call you, Jon.” he shot back with faux innocence.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Jonathan snapped, crossing his arms and looking off to one side.

“ _Archivist_ ,” Elias pressed on, the emphasis sending an unpleasant shiver through Jon. “You may not approve of my reasoning or methods but I assure you they are sound. Our time grows short and sacrifices must be made.”

“ _People_ aren’t sacrifices.”

“So you keep insisting, despite history telling a very different story.”

“I’m done playing this game with you, Elias.” Jon was suddenly very tired, he could only stand up to Elias for so long before it took its toll. “I have work to get back to.”

“That you do,” Elias agreed. “I expect progress on the situation by week’s end. Don’t disappoint me."

Threat or command, Elias’s words echoed along with the sound of the closing door for far longer than they should. Removing his glasses, Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose to fight off a headache he knew was too late to stop. “Goddammit.” he breathed into the empty room. He put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Jon’s memories from his time away from his troubles were fuzzy. A series of impressions with no clear narrative. Warmth, safety, and the middle spoon; it had been all too brief. He had wanted to stay like that forever. But nothing lasts, at least, nothing good seems to. Jon had been roused gently by Tim, Gerard still pressed against his back but beginning to stir. They’d been away too long and had to leave the safe house before their absence was noted. Jon knew the truth in the situation and hated it all the more because of it. This had been something for _them_ but it could only be kept for so long.

Constant confusion, fear, paranoia, and despair was the backdrop he had lived his life on for so long. He had forgotten they weren’t actually supposed to be there. The respite he had been given re-sensitized him to the wrongness of all of it. The brief lightening of his load made shouldering the burden all the more difficult.

Jon had buried his face in the bed, inhaling deeply. The blankets were already cooling, the body heat from the three of them bleeding away faster than seemed possible. The scent of Tim’s aftershave still lingered there, mingled with clean sheets and a faint note of clove cigarettes. Gerard pulled away and urged a reluctant Jon off the bed. He groaned a weak protest but relented without a fight.

The trip home passed in a blur, details coming into focus the farther from Gerard’s they traveled. At some point, Jon noticed the tickle of being watched on the back of his neck and knew that they had parted ways. Jon and Tim sat on the tube in comfortable silence, heads resting on each other. All too soon their paths diverged and they went their separate ways.

_“When…?” Jon faltered._

_“Soon, I hope.” Tim put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze._

 

* * *

 

Jon did not hear the sound of the door opening. The sudden influx of light pierced his skull, rousing him from his unintended nap. He blinked his eyes clear to see a startled Martin standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know you were-- The light was off and…”

“It’s fine, Martin, come in. What do you have there?” He gestured to the file in the other man’s hand as he slid his glasses back into place.

“What? Right! I think I may have found something. Statement of,” he paused to check the file, “of Charlene McCoy. It says here that people she knew kept disappearing, getting replaced by impostors. I thought that with… with what happened to Sasha… It just sounded like it might be connected somehow.”

Jon offered him what he hoped to be a comforting smile. “Thank you, Martin, I’ll have a look.” Taking the proffered file, Jon flipped through its contents. It had hallmarks similar to other statements that tied to the Stranger but it didn’t seem to have that _weight_ of a genuine statement somehow. “Have you tried it on the laptop yet?”

“Not yet, I wanted to show you straight away.”

“Well,” he said, handing the file back over, “give it a go, maybe we’ll get lucky.” He chuckled under his breath at the thought.

“Is something funny?”

“No, it’s just it doesn’t seem that long ago finding a statement that _wouldn’t_ record was something we considered an annoyance, a hassle. And now--”

“Now if it does work on the computer, it’s basically a waste of time.” Martin finished, nodding along with the train of thought. Raising the file in mock salute he looked to Jon, “Fingers crossed, eh?”

“Fingers crossed.”

It wasn’t long before Martin was back in his office with a dejected look on his face. The laptop didn’t have any problems recording the statement. Wanting to be thorough, Martin had Melanie look into Ms. McCoy. As it turned out she was later diagnosed with a brain tumor and one of the symptoms she presented was Prosopagnosia, or face blindness. An unsettling thing to have happen, but one with completely mundane explanation.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I really thought we had one there.”

Jon sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think the Archives will be very forthcoming on this in the near future.”

“What do you mean? There are still loads of files to go through, we’ll find something.”

“No, that’s not it. Elias is making some kind of power play. He doesn’t want us down here, in the relative safety of the Archive. He wants us out in the world, to dangle us in front of the things out there as bait to hook more knowledge for his-- our master.”

“Oh. Is that why you told us to keep our follow ups to online searches and phone calls?”

“I don’t want to lose anyone,” he pulled up short, “anyone else.”

Martin stared at his hands for a moment, picking at his cuticles before offering a quiet, “We’ll be careful. We know what we’re up against now”

“We really don’t.”

“Then we’ll find out, we just need to know where to look.”

“That’s the problem, I _do_ know where to look.”

“Why didn’t you tell us!” Martin’s hands flew up in the air before landing back against his legs with a dull slap.

“Because it’s a trap. Because they know we’ll be coming. Because Elias keeps pushing for sacrifice.” Jon shot an angry glare in the direction of Elias’s office above him. “That’s the word he keeps using, _sacrifice_. I, for one, refuse to give him that.”

“I don’t know that you have much of a choice in the matter.” Martin continued as Jon’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “I heard the tapes from when you were gone. When you were speaking to the… avatars, Mike Crew, Jude Perry, they spoke of sacrifice and how if it wasn’t given it would be taken.”

The barely healed burn scars made his hand twitch at the mention of Ms. Perry. “Martin, I-”

“No, Jon, this… Beholding… thing… is going to have its due and it will probably be less painful for everyone if we do that on our own terms.”

“Martin…” the Archivist looked at Martin with a mixture of grief, pity, and a hint of pride.

Catching the look, Martin’s eyes widened and his hands shot out in front of him. “Don’t look at me like I’m already gone! I’m not about to climb onto some gilded altar and let Elias cut out my still beating heart or anything like that. It’s just, if we can _feed_ it or, whatever it is we’re supposed to do, without getting ourselves killed then I’m all for that option.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you the impression…”

“I know.” he sighed. “Don’t forget that Basira is former police and we can always call in Daisy for backup if you think it could go badly. I appreciate the sentiment and that you want to try and protect us from all this but the fact is, you can’t. We’re here, this is happening, and we are doing the best we can. We’re not helpless children. We're fully capable adults with diverse sets of useful skills. Quit fretting over an infinite list of ‘what ifs’ and put us to work.”

Looking sufficiently cowed, Jon regarded his desk’s surface before meeting Martin’s eyes. “I suppose you’re right. I just…”

“Besides, you’re the baby here, Jon.” Martin teased, “Even I’m older than you.”

“Okay, Martin, you’ve made your point. Will there be anything else?” acid creeping into his voice at the jibe.

“Yes, actually. You mentioned a lead we should be looking into?”

“Oh, right…um, are you sure you want to do this?”

“No," he glanced down to his shoes and back up again, "but I like the alternative even less.”

"Quite." Jon let out a rue laugh. “Do you remember statement number 0132306?”

Martin rolled his eyes, “No one but you can remember those numbers, Jon.”

“The taxidermy shop, in Barnet?”

“Oh! Yeah, now I remember, but didn’t Sasha go over there to check it out? There wasn’t anything useful.”

“That, that wasn’t…” Jon mumbled sadly.

Realization struck Martin like a brick to the face. “Right.”

“And that means, whatever is there, if they are even still there, know we know about them.”

Martin nodded, “I’ll take this to the team and we’ll put our heads together to figure out he best way to go about it.”

“Thank you, Martin. Keep me updated, and don’t make any moves without discussing it with me first.”

“Will do.”

 

* * *

 

Jon was gathering his coat to leave when Tim popped his head in the office. He knocked twice on the door jam despite having already caught Jon’s attention. “So boss, Martin says we’re shaking down a creepy taxidermy shop. A bit redundant that, creepy and taxidermy.” He shook the thought away, “Anyway, everyone else has already left and I’m about to head out.”

“Thank you, Tim, you can go on ahead, I’ll lock up.” He finished putting on his coat and collecting his messenger bag to see Tim still standing there. “Oh, actually since you're here, I did have a question. Did Elias… say anything to you today?”

Tim shot him a warning look and flicked his eyes around the room to indicate their current location. Jon’s eyes widened as he caught their meaning _not here_.

“Oh! What I mean is...” Jon grasped at conversation for the benefit of any prying eyes. “It’s just that Elias, he warned me against picking up your bad habits. I’m not sure I quite took his meaning.”

“Oh!” Tim forced a laugh, waving his arm in an ‘after you’ gesture. “I had some, we’ll call them truancy issues, while you were away. I thought you knew.”

“Honestly, even now, I still feel like I’m still playing catch-up on everything that happened.” he said, fumbling with the lock on his door.

“It was a busy time.” Tim admitted. “Walk you out?”

“Sure.”

They ascended the stairs from the basement in relative silence. Tim stumbled on the top step and grabbed Jon’s arm for support. Jon felt a scrap of paper being pushed into his palm and he wrapped his hand around it.

“Sorry, about that.” Tim apologized. “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No worries.”

“See you tomorrow then.” He raised a hand in a wave and broke off toward the door.

“Yes, goodnight.” Jon stood at the top of the stairs with the paper clutched in his hand for a beat before exiting into the evening.

It wasn’t until he was sat on the tube that he dared look at the note Tim had passed him. It had an almost fuzzy, blurred design decorating the edge of the paper and in the center was an address and a time. Jon checked his watch. He would need to change trains but he should be able to make it to the designated location in the time allotted without too much difficulty.

He felt a bit silly but something in him told it would be a good idea not to take the most direct route. As it was, he arrived in front of a takeaway only a few minutes late to find Tim standing outside at a high table, kebab in hand. The mingled scents of spiced meat and greasy chips tickled at his nose as he approached.

“What the hell was that?” Tim asked, wiping away a dribble of grease from his chin.

Jonathan cast a look behind him, checking for anything that may have followed him there. “What was what?”

“Back at the Institute, asking if Elias had said anything,” he sighed. “Would you stop looking over your shoulders like that. You look like a teenager trying to buy pot for the first time.”

Jon suppressed a grin a the mental image and steadied his focus on Tim. “Sorry, I’m not good at this whole cloak and dagger thing…”

“You were on the run from the cops for over a month!” Tim said incredulously.

Jon tilted his head in Tim’s direction, “Did you notice the bit where I got caught and nearly killed?”

“Right, well maybe this time avoid taking a dagger to the throat.” Tim joked.

Jon swallowed heavily at the memory of being shoved up against a tree by his throat, his own knife being slowly, deliberately pushed into his neck while a strong hand squeezed the life from him.

“Hey,” Tim’s soft voice pulled him from the memory, “go get something to eat.”  
  
Jon shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“Not hungry?" He raised his eyebrows. "What did you have for lunch?”

Jon paused to recall his afternoon and considered lying. “Tea.” He admitted.

“Right, that’s what I thought. Go get something to eat, I’ll wait.”

“Just you?” Jon cast his eyes around despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see Gerard regardless of Tim’s answer.

“Need to know, Jon. Need to know basis.”

He rolled his eyes. “Passing notes, secret rendezvous, ‘need to know’. What’s next, code names?”

“Maybe, if you behave yourself.” He grinned and tossed his head in the direction of the takeaway window.

A few minutes later Jon was digging into his shawarma with all the gusto of a man who hadn’t realized his own hunger.  

“So you mentioned Elias coming to visit the Archives. What did he want?” Tim asked.

“You first,” Jon said through a mouthful of lamb and hummus, “you wanted me to eat, remember?”

“Fair enough.” he conceded. “Christ, when did I become the mum-friend? Anyway, he stopped me in the hall and made some weird comment about me having regained some of the spring in my step. So I told him I’d taken up day drinking.”

Jon coughed into his food. “You said that? To Elias?”

“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. “Besides, now if we need to get away for lunch, Now I’ll just say I’m going out for martinis.” He seemed inordinately pleased with himself.

“Martinis?”

Tim's face fell with disappointment. “Really? Shaken, not stirred?” Jon continued to give him a blank look. “James Bond.” Jon’s eyebrows shot up in realization. “There it is, now he gets it!”

“Don’t you think that is a little too, I don’t know, on the nose?” he continued to chew thoughtfully on his pita.

“Pfft! I told you, the spy thing is hot. Besides, I’m having fun with it, I’ll take my joy where I can get it. I might even start taking my tea shaken instead of stirred.”

Wiping his hands on a napkin, Jon looked up aghast. “Please don’t, Martin might take you seriously. He’ll end up scalding his face in the process.”

Tim laughed, “He does always try so hard to please.”

“About that,” Jon took a more serious tone, setting down his food “I’m worried he will try and take on too much and get himself hurt. But I’m more worried that Elias may and try to encourage that behavior.”

“Noted. Maybe we should start a buddy system. No one goes anywhere alone if they can avoid it. It’ll make it harder for Elias to single anyone out. You’ve already been sending us out in twos, when you do send us out anyway.”

“Elias wasn’t pleased about that. Kept going on about it being a ‘waste of resources’.” Jon put bunny ears around the last bit. “I told him that recklessly throwing staff into dangerous situations puts us in the same boat with the likes of Jurgen Leitner. That seemed shut him up.”

Jon sighed, consciously putting aside as much frustration as possible before speaking again. “So what is this all about? Why are we doing outside a random takeaway?” When Tim wasn’t immediately forthcoming Jon got suspicious. “This all wasn’t an excuse just so you could practice slipping me covert missives, was it?”

“I wanted to check in with you, there wasn’t really much of a chance for you, well for any of us, to really process. Also, you looked like you could use a meal.” He paused briefly considering Jon. “Also, also, yes, I wanted try out the spy note slip.” He frowned, “Huh, I wasn’t actually planning on admitting that, but I didn’t feel anything from your end. Was that you doing a thing or me being a brat?”

“I honestly don’t know, I wasn’t trying to but I wasn’t trying _not_ to either. Elias did say I was getting stronger. Though when he said it he seemed to be in full ‘tingle’ so I think you would have felt it if it was me.”

“Well, that’s unsettling image but oddly reassuring, I suppose. Anyway, to the point, how are you holding up?”  

“Just barely, if I’m being honest.” he paused to gather his thoughts, “With everything that’s happened since taking this job I feel like I’ve been ground down. I hadn’t realized it had happened, more of a gradual acceptance that this is my life and will be until something--” He took a breath and pushed on. “Until something kills me, kills us.”

“Jon--” Tim began but Jonathan held up a hand to forestall comment.

“We’ve all begun the process of resigning ourselves to our fate. Hell, you were the first to start down that path.” Tim tried again to cut in but Jon continued. “We can, and will, fight against it but eventually… I know that even our  best case scenario isn’t exactly going to have a happy ending. We will do what we can to hurt the smallest number of people. With whatever is coming people will get hurt, I just hope it won’t be in vain.” He sighed and stared off into the middle distance for a moment.

Coming back to himself he looked at Tim and continued. “All that had faded to the background, more or less. That seems terrible to say out loud, people’s lives hanging in the balance and it’s only so much noise and static… But now, all of the corners are _sharp_ again. I am hyper aware of the consequences my actions may have, and of future sacrifices to be made.” Jon trailed off, blinking back tears.

Gathering his composure, he wiped his nose on a napkin with a shaking hand. “I, I’m rambling, I’m sorry Tim, I didn’t mean to dump all that at you.” Jon focused his attention on the remains of his meal, poking with a fork the bits that had fallen out of the wrapping into the tray.  

Reaching across the table, Tim put his hand on Jon’s and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Boss, I… Look, you don’t have to do this alone.” Tim shot a pained look to one side then back to Jon.

“I don’t know that I can do this.”

“What ‘this’ do you mean?”

“All of it. The Archives,” he gestured to Tim and an assumed Gerard, “whatever this is. I appreciate what you are trying to do. It was…” Jon smiled. “It was something I didn’t know I needed as badly as I did but... But I need that detachment too. Without it I won’t be able to do what needs to be done. If I get tripped up on every little thing that _might_ go wrong and hurt someone then mistakes will happen and make things worse. I seem to be very good at making things worse.”

“From the sound of it, you’ve gotten yourself caught up in some kind of twisted self-hate spiral. You had a few hours where everything wasn’t completely terrible for once and now you’ve over-corrected into full emotional flagellation. You weren’t raised Catholic were you? Never-mind, don’t answer that. Moving on. Detachment isn’t the answer, you can think logically without being emotionally barren. We can help you find something closer to a middle ground.” He clapped his hand on the other man’s arm and rubbed up and down, trying to comfort Jon.

Jon started to relax a bit at Tim’s words. “It’s all so…”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed, nodding. “Can you at least agree that you shouldn’t be punished for a few moments of peace and happiness?”

“I just feel guilty is all.”

“Guilty! You _were_ raised Catholic! Or Jewish? Is that rude to ask?” Tim injected some levity into his words.

“Yes, actually, Catholic I mean. Not for very long though, my Grandmother wasn’t overly religious so I only barely remember church on holidays. You?”

“Church of England, but I stopped going as a teenager. Sometimes I almost wish I had faith, you know? Like maybe it would help with... maybe not though.”

“It would probably make things a good deal more complicated.”

“Exactly what we need, more complications.” Tim ruffled Jon’s hair and pecked a kiss on his forehead.

Jon pulled back, surprised and glanced around as to who may be watching. “Tim, are you sure that’s wise? Out in the open like this?”

“No, but fuck it. Besides it doesn’t break rule number one or number two.” He sided eyed Jon. “Mr. ‘did Elias say anything to you today?’ I like a bad boy, Jon, but not all rules were meant to be broken."

Jon ducked his head and smiled in spite of himself. “I said I was sorry.”

“Kiss and make up?”

Jon’s bemused expression filled volumes on exactly how much of a little shit he believed Tim to be. He shook his head slightly and leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on the corner of Tim’s mouth.

“That the best you can do? Tim goaded.

Jon gave Tim’s shoulder an affectionate shove before pulling him into a proper kiss.

Tim ran his hand along Jon’s face. “Much better.”

“Well it’s the best I’m willing to do in public view.”

“I guess that will have to do for now. Gerard hasn’t finished prepping. It will be at least a couple more days before we can all meet up again.”

“So he’s not here?”

“I didn’t say that.”  
  
Jon cocked an eyebrow. “So he is here?”

“I didn’t say that either. Look, I know the spy shit isn’t doing it for you as much as it does for me. Fact is, his protections are more a passive shield than an active force. I’m not clear on the specifics but he mentioned something about recharging or reinforcement, maybe readjustment? Anyway active interaction can leave behind a bit of a… taste, or something in the air.”

“And Elias may have caught a hint of it when Gerard was in the Archives.” Jon speculated.

“Maybe, or maybe he noticed that we dropped off the grid for a few hours on Friday. It’s also possible that he was just being a creeper for creeping’s sake.” Tim shrugged. “Who knows? Whatever the reason, we don’t want to push it this early and, heh, blow our cover.”

“So I’ll just wait on your signal then, shall I?”

“We’ll make secret agent of you yet.” Tim clapped Jon on the shoulder. “Now finish your shawarma, it’s getting cold.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but dug in with his fork. “Yes, mum.”

“Mum-friend, I said mum- _friend_ , not mother.” He laid his forehead on the table and pretended to cry.

Jon patted Tim on the back and finished his food with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more Gerard next chapter
> 
> Also, I hate myself so much for letting Martin tease Jon for being a baby. I just... it almost physically hurts me to think that Martin might actually be older than Jon. It's probably only by a month or so, but still...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon held the strip of soft, dark fabric in his hands and gave Tim a skeptical look. “Is this what I think this is?”
> 
> “A blindfold? Yes.” He cocked his head as a wicked grin spread across his face. “Unless you’d rather use it for something else?”

Wednesday night Jon was standing with Tim in Gerard’s flat. Well it might be more accurate to call it a safe house. He couldn’t tell if it was the same place as before. Maybe? The layout seemed similar but it was a common enough floor plan. The details of the location had developed a bit of a fuzz in his mind, probably by design. The trip in had been another nonsensical blur but he fortunately, didn’t encounter the same level of difficulty as before when entering. There was still a bit of a struggle, but he didn’t end up passed out on the floor like last time.  

Jon held the strip of soft, dark fabric in his hands and gave Tim a skeptical look. “Is this what I think this is?”

“A blindfold? Yes.” He cocked his head as a wicked grin spread across his face. “Unless you’d rather use it for something else? I’m sure I can get more if you’re feeling kink--”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Jon took an involuntary step back and plowed into the unseen Gerard. The other man steadied them both and left a hand lingering on his back. Jon could feel the embarrassment rising in his face. “Sorry about that.”

Tim clapped him on the shoulder. “Lighten up, I’m kidding! Mostly,” he winked. “It’s entirely up to you whether or not you want to wear it. I just thought, after your bout with... ‘cognitive dissonance’ it might be easier for you to deal with… our unique situation.”

“That’s- that’s not a bad idea, actually. Thank you, Tim.” He said relaxing slightly.

“I do have those on occasion.”

“It might also prevent me from trying to See.’ He emphasized the capital ‘S’. “If know that I can’t use my eyes, that is.”

“That it might help curb your natural, and unnatural, curiosity. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but Gerard had the same thought when we spoke earlier.”

“Yes. Unnatural curiosity…”

“Jon, we didn’t mean--”

“No, it’s fine.” Jon sighed. “It _is_ an accurate way of putting it. The more aware of that part of me I am the more I can stop myself from acting on it.” He turned to face the absence of Gerard. “I feel rude and I apologize, but I’ve already gotten in the habit of facing away from you. It seemed easier than fighting the urge to try and find you when I know you’re there.” Gerard squeezed his arm in response.

“He says he gets it. Honestly, it’s still pretty weird on my end too. Watching you interact.”

Jon looked back to Tim. “How so?”

“Well,” Tim rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, “you almost never get it right when you try to look at him. You are usually off to one side, or looking directly at his chest. It gives the two of you a kind of awkward teenager vibe, perpetually avoiding eye contact.”

“I suppose it would.” Jon laughed.

“Oh, but I’m being rude, I haven’t properly greeted our host!” Tim stepped over to embrace the air. Jon considered wrapping the blindfold around his head right then but settled on looking away for the moment.  

 

* * *

 

In the darkness, Jon heard laughter.

“Something funny, Tim?” he felt the man in front of him shift slightly followed by a hand on his face. Jon leaned into the touch. The thumb brushed along his chin and he made an effort to capture it in his mouth. Pressure increased as it dodged out of the way and the tender gesture transitioned to wipe at something along the outside of his lip.

“Oh, god I’m just making it worse!” Tim chuckled as he continued working at Jon’s face.

Confused, Jon pulled away. From behind him, Gerard enveloped him in strong arms, head nuzzling in the crook of Jon’s shoulder. “Making what worse?”

“You got your lipstick all over him!” Tim teased Gerard.

Jon felt rather than heard Gerard laugh. A slight bouncing from his chest where it pressed into Jon’s back. There were several quick puffs of breath along his neck. He could feel the smile on Gerard’s lips as he pecked a quick kiss behind his ear.

“Wait, what do you mean lipstick?

“It’s a great look on Our Boy Gerard here, but I don’t know that it’s really your color, Jon.”

Jon batted away Tim’s renewed attempts to clean him fearing a tongue bath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was pushed forward slightly as Gerard extended an arm toward Tim. The couch bounced slightly as the other man fell away laughing. Gerard caught the hand Jon was using to clean his face and brought it up against his chest, trapping it in an embrace.

A nibble on his earlobe forestalled any attempt Jon may have been contemplating to reclaim his arm. Behind the blindfold his eyes slipped fully closed as Jon relaxed into Gerard. He rode the waves of endorphins sent by touch and breath from Gerard along his neck.

Jon felt Tim, his laughter spent, moving up to join them. There was a steadying hand on the back of his head as Tim leaned in to catch Jon’s lower lip in his own. Jon reached out, bumping the back of his hand against Tim’s chest. He grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled Tim closer. Moving up to grip his shoulder, Jon pulled Tim more fully into the kiss, taking the other man’s tongue in his mouth.

A breath in his ear made Jon break off the kiss with a shuddering gasp. “Gerard, that was _evil._ ” he managed to whisper, eliciting a laugh from Tim.

Clutching to Tim like a drowning man he rested his head on Tim’s shoulder. As he gathered himself he became aware of the soft, wet sounds from the two men kissing. Blindly nuzzling his way toward them, he found Gerard’s neck and went to work along his collarbone.

“I don’t know about you,” Tim said when he came up for air, “but I’m wearing far too many clothes.” There was rustling motion followed by the sound of a shirt hitting the ground somewhere behind him. “Ahh, much better.”

“When in Rome…” Jon shrugged and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. He felt Gerard slide his hands along his shoulders and down his arms, removing the garment before moving to slip off his own. He threw them both it in the vague direction where Tim’s shirt had landed.

The three of them pressed back together skin on skin on skin. The tickle of Tim’s chest hair contrasted with the smooth contact of Gerard’s torso against his own. The scars he felt on both men mirroring his own accumulated wounds. The raised bumps and lines on Tim spoke of crawling things and cold, enveloping gas while Gerard’s skin, a larger tapestry of smooth irregularity, told a tale of white hot pain and cooking flesh. Any one of them might be self conscious of the marks their bodies carried. With each other they were simply a part of them. No more relevant than Tim’s three day old stubble.

“Would it be possible to shift this to a more accommodating location?” Jon ventured. “I’ve almost fallen off the couch twice now.  And with the blindfold, it is only a matter of time before I elbow someone in the face.”

There was a pause and Jon felt the vibrations of Gerard’s words reverberate in his chest where it made contact with his own.

“Well then, after you.” Tim said to Gerard.

Jon pulled the fabric from his eyes to see a flushed Tim sitting before him. Smears of dark lipstick covered his face and neck. “Tim, you have a little... something on your face.” Jon made a deliberate show of wetting his thumb and extending it to the other man.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Tim hopped off the couch and half jogged toward the bedroom. “Leave your keys on the table with your glasses.” He called back over his shoulder. “You keep stabbing me in the leg with them, I’m going to get a bruise.”

 

* * *

 

‘Blissed out’ was probably the best term Jon could think of for the look on Tim’s face as he lounged on the bed beside him, legs tangled with his own. He was probably sporting a similar expression as he lay on his stomach with Gerard tracing patterns along his back. Words probably, but he couldn’t quite tell. The touch was light, but deliberate, fingernails moving all the way down his back before starting back across his shoulder blades for another pass and another and another and...

‘S’ was an easy enough shape to discern as was ‘O’ but everything else was a blur. For all he knew it might not even be English. Jon tried to concentrate on the individual letters but his focus kept slipping as he lost himself in the sensation. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him though.

"What are you writing?" He murmured. "Is it Latin?”

Gerard’s fingers abruptly stopped, halting halfway down his back, above the spine. After a moment he turned to look over his shoulder at the man who should be there. “Something wrong?” The touch disappeared. Jon felt but didn’t see the bed shift as Gerard stood up. Legitimately worried now he rolled to one side looking back and forth between a very surprised Tim and the space in the room where Gerard might be. “What--?”

“Jon, stop talking.”

“I don’t--”

“Jonathan. Questions. Stop.”

Jon clapped his hand over his mouth to stem the tide of questions trying to flood out of his mouth. Looking at Tim with wide, guilty eyes he flicked a glance in the direction of Gerard’s departure.

“He has to check on something. This wasn’t unexpected, Jon. You’re curious and, apparently, completely unaware that rules apply to you.”  Tim sat up and ruffled Jon’s hair. “Please _try_ and remember to direct any questions through me next time and not directly to him.

“Right,” he swallowed, “I’m sorry, I- I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Our Boy Gerard can be very… distracting.” he hummed with a faraway look.

Smiling, Jon sent a playful push on Tim’s shoulder. “Said the man with the magic hands.”

Tim feigned embarrassment. “I’m glad you appreciate my efforts but you are clearly incorrect.” When Jon didn’t respond, Tim continued. “Gerard has the magic hands. _I_ have a magic _tongue.”_ He ran his ‘magic tongue’ seductively along his upper lip and winked.

A laugh somewhere between a bark and a snort burst from Jon and he flopped back down onto the bed. “Now you’re the one who’s mistaken. I’m the one with the magic tongue.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s the current problem, isn’t it?”

Tim leaned over Jon, his stubble prickling along Jonathan’s cheek. “It’s not a problem if we keep it otherwise occupied.” Tim whispered in his ear, sending a wave of chills through him.

Jon fisted his hands in the sheets to ground himself. “Christ, what is it with you two and my ears?”

“You go all…” he chuckled, teasing his tongue along the outer edge of Jon’s ear. Tim sent another breath along the wet skin making Jon squirm beneath him. “And that face you make, just…” He pulled Jon’s earlobe into his mouth and began to gently suck on the delicate flesh.

“And here I thought I was the monster.” Jon managed to gasp out.

Tim stopped, suddenly serious, “Don’t do that, Jon.”

“Huh?” Jon blinked up at him, confused.

Placing his hands on either side of Jon’s head, Tim looked him directly in the eyes. “Don’t call yourself that, not even as a joke. You’re not a monster. None of us are. We’re people. People in a fucked up situation and… some of us are growing super powers, but deep down, we are all still people.”

“If I’m so human then why can’t I see Gerard? And why does he have to keep running off whenever I accidentally ask a question?” Jon asked bitterly.

Tim sighed and released Jon’s face to look over at the door. “A little help in here?” he called.

“Look Jon, the lines might get a little fuzzy around the concept of ‘human’ in a few places but that doesn’t make you a monster. The fact you are trying to hold on so tightly means you are still a person. Monsters don’t have existential crises about their lost humanity. Back me up on this Ger.”

A weight sat itself on the bed opposite Tim and Jon felt Gerard’s warm hand slide into his own. “He didn’t have to run away from you, he wanted to make sure the defenses are holding. And they are.”

Tim paused to listen to Gerard for a while before responding, “Are you sure?” he sighed. “Well, okay then.” Tim settled himself on the bed. “Right, well. I guess it’s story time then.”

“I thought he didn’t want to feed the Beholding.”

Tim looked warily at Gerard. “He doesn’t. But he wants to make it clear that this is something that you, Jonathan, need to hear. If the Beholding gets a snack out of it, so be it. Besides, he’s not writing it down for submission to the Archives and you’re not making a recording as Archivist.

“Still.” Jon seemed dubious.

“Do you want to wear the blindfold again? Would that help?” Tim asked.

“Probably not a bad idea as precautionary measures go.” Jon sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“Right then,” Tim shifted and looked to Gerard, clearly not fully on board with the decision, “close your eyes and hold still.”

Jon did as he was told. Moments later there was whispering breath next to him as the soft fabric pressed against his face and secured behind his head. There were more whispers and a kiss placed on the crown of his head. Steady hands gripped his shoulders and he felt two more kisses land, one over each eye. An odd sort of haze settled over him.

“How are you doing, Jon? Everything alright?” Tim’s voice sounded far away, almost like it was coming from underwater, but without the distortion.

“You sound a bit… off, but other than that, I think I’m okay.” He paused to consider, “My own voice doesn’t seem to have the same warped quality as yours. Which is… good?”

“Sorry about that, side effects. Ger says it should even out in a bit.” As he spoke, Tim’s words were smoothing out into something just this side of unnatural.

“It does seem to be doing that, yes.”

“Good to hear. Okay, stop talking now. Story time.”

“Right.”

“Jon…” Tim warned.

“Oh, Sorry.”

“Jon!”

Chagrined, he pressed his lips together and nodded for Tim to begin.

“Ah, Okay… This might be awkward but we’ll get through it together.” Tim gave Jon’s knee a pat while Gerard eased up next to him and hooked one of Jon’s arms in his own. “So…

“‘On the subject of monsters and people,’” Tim began, repeating after Gerard, “‘there are some things you should know about my mother. My mother was, well, probably still is, a monster. The thing you most need to know about it is that you are _nothing_ like her.’”

Jon let his eyes slip closed, not that it mattered behind the blindfold. He could feel the soundless vibrations of Gerard's words followed by the voice Tim gave to them. The flow of the narrative bounced from one man to the other before reaching Jon. He sat on the bed, drinking in the process as much as the words themselves.

“‘She knowingly chose to sacrifice pieces of herself in exchange for power. The choices you’ve made may have led you here, but she made _her_ choices with full knowledge of what she was stepping into. We are all past the point of no return and will likely be drawn farther down the path but we don’t have to let it corrupt us like it did her.’”

The Archivist caught a sound under Tim’s voice. No, not a sound, but another voice. Harsher, as if from years of smoking or, screaming maybe? It was tired, but with a hint of optimism. A deep rumble that matched the reverberations he sensed from next to him. Slowly that other voice pulled itself to the front of his awareness, relegating Tim to background noise.

“The connections you are making ground you. You care what happens to them. Not as servants, or tools, or fodder, but as people. A monster wouldn't be worried about what might happen to Tim and the rest of your staff, wouldn't be trying to protect them from danger. If we hold on to ourselves and those we care about we can keep from becoming true monsters.”

Behind closed eyes the Archivist had the impression of sitting cross-legged on a bed across from two vague figures, one with long dark hair and the other sandy brown with a strip of black across their face. The dark haired one was speaking...

“My mother gave up her humanity long ago, maybe even before I was born.” Gerard sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I really don’t know, I didn’t grow up with the best frame of reference for what a 'normal person' was. I think she must have made sure of that. She did care about me though, but more in the way that a craftsman cares for their tools. I was always more of an apprentice than a son, a means to an end. She made me what I am and the best way I can fight against that is to use her… gifts to help the people that she, or monsters like her, would use for their own ends.” He spread his hands to encompass the people in the room.

“The Archivist is necessary, Jon. They serve a purpose that keeps something close to balance in the world, especially when the Stranger gets twitchy. You can fulfill that role without losing all of yourself. Elias will tell you differently, but you _can_ be both at the same time.

"Does that help?” 

Dimly, Jon felt Gerard's hand squeeze his own while he saw a dreamlike image of him do just that. 

“Jon? Jon, you can talk again.” Tim’s voice cut through the haze that had settled in his mind.

Light filtered through the fabric over his eyes as he blinked them open and came back to himself. “Oh, um, yes. Sorry, I got a bit lost in the sound of your voice. I must have started to drift off a bit. A hazard of closing my eyes, I suppose. But yes it does help put things in perspective. Thank you for sharing, Gerard. I know that must have been difficult.” He reached out to ruffle the hair on the man beside him.

Jon sighed, “As much as I would love to continue all this, we really should be getting back. Tim has a big day tomorrow, and I would be more comfortable if I knew he was going in well rested.”

“Did you have to bring work into this?” Tim groaned. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but still…”

“I wish I was going with you but Elias threatened to lock me in a supplies closet if I tried. I don’t think he was entirely joking.”

“Probably not.”

Jon pulled the blindfold from his head to better look at Tim. “Just be _careful_.”

“I will.” Tim reached out to stroke Jon’s face. “Hey, and remember that tomorrow I'll be taking on the deep cover identity of Timothy Stoker, salty archival assistant. Try not to take anything I say too personally.”

“That goes for you too, if I have to respond in kind.”

“Just know that I’d much rather be the supportive boyfriend.”

“I know, I feel the same.” Jon sighed.

“Code names!” Tim burst out causing Jon to startle into Gerard. “I think we've earned them. You can be Professor X or Charles, I’ll be James, and Gerard will be OG.”

“James Bond I get, but OG?”

“Our Gerard.” Jon could feel Gerard laughing beside him.

Jon took a breath before speaking, “I'm not sure I'm comfortable with mine. A mutant, Tim? Really? You were just scolding me for thinking of myself as a monster.”  
  
“No, it works. Think about it.” Tim’s hands gained momentum as the words spilled out of him. “Mutants are _mostly_ human, effectively the same in every way but with a little… extra. Professor X leads a group of them in defense of humanity’s greater good. Some of the other mutants might be monsters, sure, but Charles and his group are all _good people_.”

“I suppose, when you put it like that…”

“I told you not all superhero movies are trash. You need to get out more.”

“Speaking of, we really should be going.”  Jon said reluctantly. He leaned his head on Gerard's shoulder and made no effort to actually do so.

Tim climbed off the bed, offering a hand up to Jon. “As you wish.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan "existential crisis machine" Sims


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Martin go on some recon while Jon is stuck back in the Archives.

Jon was making an effort not to spend all day hiding in his office so he ventured into the Archives periodically. On his most recent pass through he saw Martin and Melanie were at their desks working on various projects while Basira had hunkered down with a book from the library. It was getting on towards noon and Tim still wasn’t in.

“Has anyone seen Tim yet today?”

“Hm?” Martin looked up from his computer and registered Jon standing there. “Oh, uh, no. Not yet anyway. It’s still early though.”

“Early? It’s nearly midday.”

“Yeah. That seems about right.”

“Well I suppose if you will be out this evening at the Trophy Room it makes sense to come in later than usual.”

Martin looked as if he were going to say something and then thought better of it. He nodded a few times and then returned his focus to his work. Jon considered pressing the issue but it seemed like it might be a sore spot with Martin, and better left alone.

“I’m going to make a cup of tea, anyone want one?” Jon asked.

Martin wordlessly held up his own steaming mug and shook his head before taking a sip. Melanie mumbled something along the lines of “no” and Basira didn’t look as if she had even registered Jon’s presence in the first place.

“Oh, well. Suit yourself.” Jon said under his breath as he headed to the kitchenette.

The tea had nearly finished steeping when Jon heard Tim descend into the Archives. “Good of you to finally join us, Mr Stoker,” he called after him.

“Yeah, well, you know how it is. Some days you just can’t be bothered to give a fuck.”

Jon was taken somewhat aback before remembering the roles they needed to play in this place. _Salty archival assistant, indeed._ “I’m not sure that language is entirely appropriate for the workplace.”

Tim swung back around toward Jon. A hint of gin pricked at Jon’s nostrils from Tim’s direction. “Pick up on that, did you?” Tim’s mouth wore a sarcastic smile, as he leaned on the door frame to the kitchenette. “Is that something you might fire me over, boss?”

Jon sputtered briefly before responding. “You and I both know that is not something I have in my power to do.”

“Well it was worth a shot, anyway.” Tim sighed and trudged to his desk, tossing his belongings down in a petulant heap.

Jon blinked a few times and shook his head. He finished making his tea and headed back to his office. On the way, Martin caught his eye, cocked his head toward Tim, and shrugged. Jon had to admit, Martin did try to warn him.

“Please come see me before you all head out tonight, I’d like to see you off.”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard?” Melanie chimed in. “It’s just Martin and Tim going. Elias wants me working on my war ghost project and he doesn’t want Basira to leave the Institute for some unspecified reason.”

“What!?” Jon’s voice shot up nearly an octave.  

“Yeah, he came down here a bit ago and told us, you must have been in the toilet.”

“Sneaky bastard," he muttered under his breath. "And just what ‘unspecified reasons’ are preventing Basira from going along?”

At the mention of her name, Basira looked up from her book. “He wouldn’t say, just that he’d rather I not wander too far or something along those lines.”

“Whatever game he’s playing, I am not inclined to indulge.” Jon spun, tea in hand, and headed for the stairs.

“Jon,” Martin called after him, “it’s fine. We’ll be fine. Elias didn’t seem like he was in a mood to be argued with. Save it for a battle you have a chance of winning.”

Martin’s words stole the wind from Jon’s sails and he turned to face his staff. “Tim? What are your thoughts on this development?” He did his best to avoid any compulsion in the question.

Tim paused in thought for a moment then heaved a sigh. He dug a flask out of his jacket, unscrewed it, and took a long pull. Jon was too astonished to comment. Melanie exchanged a worried look with Martin, who rolled his eyes.

Seeming to finally to notice the eyes focused on him, Tim looked up. “What? I guess that means I’ll need to be sober by tonight and it would be a shame to waste it. I might as well drink it now.” He shrugged and offered the flask. “Anyone else want in on this?”

Jon stood open mouthed for a moment before grabbing the offered flask and taking a swig. He poured a generous dollop of the whiskey into his tea before handing it back and leaving. The sound of Tim’s laughter and Martin’s sputtering followed him to his office.

 

* * *

 

A soft knock on the open door roused Jon from his work. Work really wasn’t the right term for it as he has been staring at the same file for over an hour now. He had lost track of the number of times he’s read it, mechanically sweeping his eyes over the words without actually processing anything on the page.

“Jon?” Martin’s soft voice called. “It’s nearly time. Tim and I are about to head out. You said you wanted to see us before we left?”

“Yes, Martin. Thank you, come in. Is Tim with you?” Jon craned his head to look past Martin.

“Right here, boss.” Tim popped up from the other side of the door.

Jon gestured for the two of them to sit. “Well, this is less than ideal. Melanie and Basira’s skills would have been useful for a trip like this.”

Tim leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m pretty good at talking my way out of things and Melanie has been teaching us how to pick locks.”

“Melanie can pick locks?” Jon’s eyebrows raised in initial surprise before he nodded. “I suppose that makes sense given her… previous career. Well, at least your trip won’t be hampered by something as mundane as a locked door.”

“It’s an unusually easy skill to learn,” Martin said holding up a set of lock picks, “really made me reevaluate my locks at home.”

“Just, don’t get caught with them. I’d rather not have to bail the two of you out of jail.”

Jon stared across his desk at the two men seated before him and struggled to find a way to put his feelings into words. He cared for them both and didn’t want any harm to come to them. Sending them on what was essentially a covert mission into enemy territory felt like a betrayal on his part.

Martin smiled nervously and shifted in his seat. “We-- we really need to be going.”

“Yes, of course. Just, be careful. Watch out for each other.”

Tim stood and tossed off a jaunty salute. “Will do, boss. Come on, Martin, let’s go creep around a store full of dead things.”

“R-r-right.” Martin laughed nervously.

Tim nodded and headed off with Martin.

 

* * *

 

 

Countless pairs of blank, dead eyes stared down at him from all directions. He could feel them boring into him. The intensity of their gaze was wholly unlike that of the Archives. The effect of Beholding resembled a tickling at the edge of his perception  _this_ was an almost physical force hammering him from every angle. Not watching exactly, but _hating._

A beam of light, low to the ground, cut through the gloom. He approached a door on the far wall, cautious of the distorted faces attached to shadowy creatures.  A voice murmured next to him, familiar, but unintelligible. The door did not yield to his pull and his companion set to work.

He swept his gaze around the room behind him, peering into the shadow, willing himself to see more. A voice behind him spoke of access through the door. Movement caught his eye and he turned his head to follow.

Nothing.

It was gone, if it was ever even there to begin with, probably a shadow shifting in the light of a passing car. The voice was insistent they hurry, time is short. He looked again, squinting, but there was still nothing. He turned to the door and stepped through.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon snapped awake in the document room. He hadn’t really intended to take a nap but had been overcome with a wave of exhaustion such that he barely made it to the cot before collapsing. Blinking sleep from his eyes, the Archivist couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than a dream. There had been a dreamlike quality to the events, certainly, but he almost felt like he had been physically present in the Trophy Room, perhaps seeing through the eyes of Martin or Tim.

That was bad. He had written off the odd dissociation he experienced the previous day, as some kind of projection. When Gerard spoke of his mother he was drifting on the edge of sleep, his mind could had come up with something while listening to Tim recount Gerard’s words. It seemed natural that he might visualize the scenario in his mind’s eye.  But this…

This was different. He was actually with Tim and Gerard at the time. Jon had never set foot in the Trophy Room, had no first hand knowledge of its layout or the placement of specimens along the shelves. It was possible that his own anxiety over the situation fabricated the whole thing but that didn’t explain the sudden fatigue that facilitated his “dream”. 

Was this some new ability? To literally see through the eyes of others rather than just figuratively via their statements. If the was gaining new Archivist powers, what does that mean for Jon? Was this what Elias meant by him  _watching_ and _knowing_ his assistants? If that was the case, so be it, but he won’t be discarding them, no matter how much Elias wants him to.

He went over the details of the vision in his mind again and again. Hopefully Tim and Martin will return to the Archives before too long. If not, then Jon wants to be as prepared as possible to go after them and bring them back safely. Jon debated sending a text but decided against it. If either of them had neglected to silence their phones a notification could put them in danger.

Eventually he couldn't handle waiting and made his way upstairs to talk to Elias. “Something’s wrong.” Jon burst in and began pacing the length of Elias’s office like a caged animal. 

“Even if that was actually the case, there is nothing you can do about it, Jon.” Elias sighed.  
  
Wheeling on the other man he raised a finger to point at his chest. “You made damn sure of that! I should be out there with them!”

Elias ignored the outburst. “Go back to your office and get some work done. If you're right, and I'm not saying you are, you will very likely need to record a statement when they return.”

“You mean, _if_ they return.” Jon ground out. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

“A great many things," Elias flashed a self satisfied smile, "you will need to be more specific.” 

“Are they in danger? What is happening?”

“In danger? Very likely. No one is truly safe, especially while the Stranger prepares for its dance. As to what is happening, I cannot say.”

“Can’t or won’t?"

“Does it really matter? The effect remains the same.” Elias sat placidly at his desk in sharp contrast to Jon’s anger. “If you’re quite finished with your temper tantrum, I have work that needs attending to.”

Seething, Jon took another lap of the office as Elias began sorting through requisition forms for Artefact Storage. “You really are just going to sit here doing _paperwork_ while--”

“Yes, Jon. I am.” Elias cut him off, steel threading through his voice. “I suggest you busy yourself in a similar manner. Now if you’ll see yourself out?”

Jon worked his mouth around several unspoken words before declaring, “I’m going over there.”

“No, you're not.” Elias hadn’t even looked up from his work to respond.

Jon gathered himself and strode toward the door. “I’m going.”

 _“Archivist!”_ The command brought him up short, like he had reached the end of a lead pulled taught. He spun around to see Elias, now standing, eyes focused on Jon. “Do not test me. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to go out in the field. This time, however, is not one of them.”

Tension hung thick in the air between the two men. His concern for Tim and Martin mixed with anger at Elias. He tried to wield his emotions but might as well have been banging his head against a brick wall. It was starting to feel like he was doing exactly that. The longer he stared down Elias, the more his head began to pound. Jon couldn't seem to muster the strength to defy Elias any further.

 _“Fine,”_ he spat, “I’ll stay away from the Trophy Room.” Storming from the office Jon slammed the door behind him. He might not be able to fully oppose Elias but at least he could still make his displeasure known. He stood there fuming for several moments as he got his breathing under control.

Shaking with spent adrenaline, he descended to the main floor. In a fit of pique, rather than continue down to the Archive as Elias suggested, Jon pulled open the front door to the Institute and strode out into the night. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, he just knew that he couldn't be _there_ any longer.

On impulse, Jon headed toward the river. He felt better being in open air. It was on the cold side though and he regretted leaving his coat in the Archives. Not ready to go back, he had a look around for anywhere he could duck in for a bit and spotted a pub along the river.

 _Perfect, I’ll get a pint, maybe some chips, and cool off for a bit before I need to go back_.

The pub wasn’t overly crowded, thank god for that, Jon wasn’t sure he could handle dealing with a bar full of drunks on a Friday evening. He was able to make his way to the bar and place his order with no difficulty. He noticed a sign by a set of stairs advertising a spy themed lounge on the upper floor, apparently this place was directly across the river from MI6 headquarters. Tim would be loving this. Jon made a mental note to come back with him, assuming Tim wasn’t already a regular here.

Jon decided to give the lounge a go and ended up at a polished wooden table in a tucked away corner. The spy lounge had an abundance of tucked away corners.

Someone brushed past his elbow but when he turned to look, no one was there. _Gerard?_ He didn’t dare voice the thought aloud. After his spat in Elias’s office it was very likely his boss was keeping an eye on him. Looking around the lounge, Jon could see this being the kind of place Elias might visit. It just enough posh sensibilities that he wouldn’t look out of place, drink in hand, gazing over the Thames to the SIS building, occasionally laughing at whatever he saw. On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t take Tim here.

Looking back to his table, he saw a small package sat in front of him. _I guess I’m in for a night of espionage after all._ The brown paper was labeled to Charles in green ink. After a half second of confusion Jon remembered that, as per Tim's code names, _he_ was Charles. His eyes kept sliding away from it but he recognized the handwriting from the not Gerard had left him a week ago. (Had it really only been a week?)

Jon cleared his throat and tried to look casual as he opened up the package to find a small flip phone with a note attached.

 

I’m here

You can talk

I’ll text you back

Delete the messages when we’re done

-OG

 

Jon had to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. He was having a clandestine meeting in a spy pub while Tim was off on a reconnaissance mission to gather intelligence from the enemy.

Jon was careful not to put any compulsion in his words. “How did you know I would be here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, it’s just…”

A few moments later the phone in his hand buzzed. _I saw you leave from the cafe. You looked upset_

“Yeah, well,” Jon sighed and rubbed his face, “Elias threw a spanner in the plan they had worked out and now I have this terrible feeling that something is about to go _very_ wrong. I don’t want to just watch, I have to _do_ something.” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed again. “Elias wasn’t pleased.”

_What makes you certain things will go wrong?_

“Other than everything _always_ goes wrong?” Jon said bitterly. “Well… I’m fairly certain that I- that I had some kind of vision earlier. I think… I think I was able to see what Tim and Martin were doing. Through their eyes.”

Jon felt the weight of an arm drape across his shoulders and give him a slight squeeze. It surprised him, he thought admitting to a new manifestation of the Beholding would make Gerard want to distance himself. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it can’t be good.”

_It’s not necessarily bad, especially if it lets you help your friends_

“But it doesn’t let me help them, only watch them.”

_It gave you a warning and you're following up on that._

_You are doing something_

“Nothing useful.” Jon mumbled. Suddenly tired, he rested his head on what he presumed was Gerard’s shoulder. “Sorry, it’s been a long day and I guess my drink is going to my head.”

Jon relaxed as Gerard began to stroke his hair and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. He blinked slowly and something in Jon’s mind clicked into place. His eyes widened as he gathered his remaining energy to stay awake. “Wait... I don’t think this is normal tired,” he said slowly, “I think, I think it’s happening again.”

Everything was draining out of him. He felt Gerard shift him so he was propped up more in the corner. Jon heard the beep of his phone but couldn’t muster the strength to retrieve it from the table. Every time he blinked it was harder and harder to open his eyes again.

The hand on his back was gently scratching between his shoulder blades, easing the growing fear he felt. As Jon lost his grip on consciousness he swore he heard a voice say, “It’s okay, Jonathan. I’m here.”

 

* * *

 

 

There were fewer eyes in the office yet the hatred they conveyed was just as intense. It was darker here, the light from the street didn’t penetrate into this room, leaving only their torches to illuminate the space. Shadows shifted as the light played around the room.

He wasn’t exactly certain what he was looking for but he was sure he would know when he saw it. There. A ring pull on the floor. It opened without difficulty revealing stairs descending into darkness. Noises of concern came from his companion.

“It’s too late for that,” he felt himself say, “anyone down there would have heard us walking across the floor. Even if they didn’t, we’ve certainly given ourselves away by opening the door and shining a light down there.”

A grumbled agreement came from beside him and he cautiously climbed down the stairs, the creak of a second set of footsteps echoing his decent.

Large bags of sawdust lined one wall of the subterranean room. Casting his light around he revealed armatures for various animals, some in the process of having skin applied. A nearly complete peacock with eyes that seemed to follow him sat next to a pile of its tail feathers. Looking closer, he noticed none of the other partially completed taxidermy had eyes yet.

There was a question from his accomplice when the torch beam fell on a single mannequin stood in a corner surrounded by a pile of its disassembled brethren

“Yeah, not a fan. Part of me wants to burn this place down but that might actually make things worse." He snorted, "I’m tempted to do it anyway.”

A scream pierced the air, not from the man behind him but a woman's scream from somewhere in the basement. He spun his light around trying to locate the source. He didn’t see anyone who could have made the sound. Wait-- The peacock, had it… moved?

His curiosity spurned him forward despite the pleas from his companion to depart. It was just a dead bird. Right? The light played over the iridescent feathers as he approached.

The voice on the stairs drew his attention. “Please, let’s go!” When he turned back the bird had definitely moved, shifted its head to fix its glass eyes on him more fully.

“Yeah.. Okay.” He turned to walk away and the scream came again. He froze for a half second then bolted for the stairs. Wings buffeted his head causing him to stumble and nearly fall. His companion was at the top of the stairs, urging him forward. He took the steps two at a time and slammed the door across the opening as soon as he emerged from the basement.

Looking through the door, he saw the assembled animals in the storefront were now facing them, eyes fixed. He noticed a faint hissing noise but couldn’t recall seeing any snakes on the way in. A chemical scent filled the air. He looked up and saw some kind of gas escaping from what appeared to be a sprinkler head. “This is bad.”

Lightheadedness crept over him as he pushed his companion forward, urging him to run through the assembled creatures. Blessedly, none of them moved to attack them as he followed close behind. His limbs were getting heavy, weighing him down and he stumbled to one knee, coughing.

 

* * *

 

The gentle shaking of his shoulders brought Jon back to himself. He thought he heard someone say something but it faded into the distance before he could fully process it. He found himself leaning against Gerard, his head pillowed on the other man’s shoulder. His vision swam as he fought through a haze of sleep and-- something else?

“Wh-what?” His voice cracked when he tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How long was I out?”

Gerard's strong grip steadied him as he got his bearings. Jon looked around the lounge confused. No one in it seemed to have taken any interest in them, absorbed as they were with their own evenings. Why should they? Everyone else could see Gerard just fine. To the casual observer, it looked like he was enjoying a night out in a decent bar with his goth boyfriend.

The burner phone buzzed and Jon flipped it open to see several messages waiting.

_I’ve got you_

_This isnt something you’re doing. It’s some kind of outside force_

_Doesn’t seem malicious_

_This isn’t your fault_

_Not long, only a few minutes._

While he was reading, a new message popped up. _But I couldn’t wake you_

“It happened again, a vision. This was definitely more vivid, more complete. But it’s slipping away quickly.” Jon rubbed his temples and squinted his eyes shut. “Martin and Tim, something has one or both of them. They got hit by some kind of gas."

The screen in his hands lit up with Gerard's words,  _We’ll_ _find them, but you need to get back before…_

“Right I-, you're right. Elias will be looking for me.” He pushed himself up from the table. He started to turn away but felt a hand on his arm and paused. Gerard wrapped him in a warm embrace and held him there for a moment. Jon felt himself relax slightly as he inhaled the scent of leather from Gerard’s coat.

 _Wait, that’s new,_ Jon thought. Startled, he pulled away and put Gerard at arm’s length. “I can smell your coat. I’ve never been able to do that before, not while you’re wearing it anyway. I… I need to go before I get us both in trouble.”

Gerard squeezed his upper arm and then he was gone.

His pocket beeped and Jon stared at the blank screen in his hand in confusion for a moment. The beeping continued and he traded the small flip phone for his own to see a call from Elias on the display.

“Shit.” Jon hurriedly answered the call. “What?” he snapped, “I leave for a bit to clear my head and--"

“Front door, get his statement, Archivist.” Elias’s voice filtered through the line.

“What?” Jon asked incredulously but got no response. Elias had ended the call.

He cursed again and began deleting messages from the burner before starting back to the Institute.

It had started raining since he’d last been outside and Jon sorely missed his jacket. As he approached the front of the Magnus Institute, Jon noticed what looked almost like a heap of garbage up against the front door. His pulse quickened as he realized it was a person.

Not just any person, but Martin! Even with the rain matting it down, Jon recognized the unruly, ginger hair.

“Oh god, Martin!” Fumbling with his keys, Jon rushed forward to unlock the door. He pushed it open and Martin’s limp form slumped to the floor, landing with a groan. Jon hooked Martin under the arms, dragging him inside. The other man fought weakly but seemed only barely conscious. Jon stuck his head out into the rainy night, casting about for any sign of Tim but saw none.

“Martin, where’s Tim?” He looked up at the sound of his name but Martin’s eyes were unfocused and confused, his breath came in shallow gasps. Jon crouched down to get a better look and check for injuries. His assistant’s face was ashen with mismatched pupils blown unnaturally wide. His flailing hands were far colder than the rain’s chill warranted. “Martin! Can you hear me?”

“J-J-Jon?”

“Yes, Martin, it’s me. You’re safe now, you’re at the Institute.”

“Jon-- I don’t…” his eyes started to slip closed

“MARTIN! Stay with me!

His eyes snapped open and fearfully scanned the room. “J-Jon? What?"

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Martin, where is Tim?”

“T-Tim? He was right behind me… P-p-pushed me ahead of him. He-- he said to run, he was right behind me! Oh no, it’s the tunnels all over again!” Martin sobbed. “Everything happened so fast and… blurry… and-- wait? How did I get here?”

“Jon,” Elias’s quiet but stern voice came from the stairs behind him, “get him sorted, then take his statement."

“He needs medical attention, Elias! He clearly has a concussion--”

“Drugged, more likely, but I suppose they could have knocked him ‘round the head for good measure.”

“What about Tim?"

“What _about_ Tim?  He will come back to us, or he won’t. _Your_ job, is to watch and record, not to interfere.”

“But--” Jon began.

“ _Archivist!”_

The command from Elias, tugging again on an invisible leash, silenced Jonathan. All the fight in him bled away leaving behind a mild head rush.

“Archivist,” gentler this time, almost soothing, “we can have this discussion another time. But right now, you need to get him settled and take his statement.”

“Right.” Jon said numbly.

Martin had remained silent during the exchange but now struggled weakly to a sitting position.

“Jon?"

“Huh?” Confused, he blinked twice and shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. What were we-?” He looked down to see the state of the man at his feet. “Oh! Jesus, Martin. I’m sorry. Let’s get you downstairs, I still have the cot set up.”

Jon half carried, half dragged Martin into the Archives. He stripped off his damp outer layer and settled him on the cot. Martin had insisted on remaining sat up. He was feeling a bit more like himself and was afraid he would pass out if he laid down. Jon had pressed a warm mug of tea into his hands and hovered anxiously while Martin sat sipping it slowly.

“Get the recorder, Jon.” Martin croaked, halfway through his tea.

“You can just tell me what happened. We don’t need--”

“You know that’s not how it works here. You heard Elias."

Jon exhaled deeply, “I know, I just…” He retrieved a recorder from one of the shelves and set it on the small table next to the cot.

Martin took a deep breath as Jon pressed the record button and began to speak. “Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant of the Magnus Institute regarding?”

“A failed reconnaissance mission of the Trophy Room taxidermists in Barnet.” Martin supplied.

“I wouldn’t call it failed, Martin.” Jon interrupted.

“Can you just--,” Martin sighed and pulled the recorder closer to himself. “Statement begins.

“The place was definitely creepy. Taxidermy usually doesn’t bother me but this stuff was unsettling. It’s like they’d never actually seen a deer, or a fish, or a fox. Only ever heard them described, just an approximation of what they should look like. Even with the actual skin available to work with, they still got it sort of wrong.

“Everything was going fine until we checked the basement. I mean, spooky animals aside it was fine. I picked the lock to the office and had a look around. Tim found the door to the basement in the floor. I didn’t want to go down there but other than what looked to be an unnecessary number of knives in the workshop, it wasn’t like we had found a copy of _The Stranger’s Guide to the Unknowing_ lying about so, down we went.

“I was a few steps behind Tim and we saw--”

“Sawdust and mannequin parts?” Jon cut in.

“Yes,” Martin sounded surprised, “how did you know.”

“I wish I could say it was a lucky guess.” Jon pressed his lips together and nodded for Martin to continue.

“There were also several pieces being assembled but the most complete of them was--”

“A peacock.”

“Right.” Martin gave Jon a confused look. He seemed as if he wanted to ask a question but wasn’t quite sure what to ask.

Jon waved his hand in dismissal. “Later.”

“Okay… whatever you say.” Martin shrugged and continued. “He hadn’t been down there long when we heard a scream. It almost sounded like a woman screaming but I knew it wasn’t human. I wanted to leave but Tim insisted he find the source. Then he noticed the peacock had moved and he started heading toward it. I told him to stop, that we needed to go; that we’d seen enough. When he looked back to answer me the peacock screamed again and he finally ran as it came after him.

“He made it to the top of the stairs and slammed the basement door shut. Tim noticed it before I did and he tried to push me out of the way as some kind of gas erupted from the walls or the ceiling. I-I’m not really sure. Tim yelled at me to keep running, that he was right behind me. I must have gotten a lungful because everything started to warp and… and shift. My whole body felt _heavy_ and everything started to slow down.

“Everything starts to fade in and out after that. I don’t remember making it through the door but I must have done. I remember being outside, leaning against a low wall, and trying to catch my breath. There was movement near me and everything went dark. I think there was something on my face? A bag maybe? I dunno. I was being carried off. I tried to struggle but whoever had me was strong and I was still weak from the gas. They said something, but I didn’t catch it, I’m not even sure it was in English.

“Then I was in some kind of vehicle, I could feel it moving as we drove. I’m not sure for how long, I kept… losing track of things and they kept me blindfolded. I tried to take it off once and they hit me. I- I left it alone after that.” Martin cast is eyes to the floor, clearly ashamed with himself for not fighting back harder.

“I remember being carried again and dropped on hard stone, that must have been the Institute. Hands tugged at my coat…” He squinted in concentration as he pulled on the thread of memory. “My coat! Jon, I think they put something in there!”

Martin leapt to his feet, or rather he tried to. As soon as he was fully upright he swayed drunkenly and nearly fell. “Sit down, Martin, I’ll get it.”

Jon retrieved the garment from where it was drying on a chair back. He passed it over to Martin who immediately began rummaging through the inner pockets. His fingers seized on their prize and he pulled out a Polaroid photograph. “Oh god, Tim,” he gasped at what he saw.

“What is it?” Jon asked frantically, reaching for the picture. Martin passed it over with shaking hands. A wave of nausea overtook him and the Archivist was in darkness.

 

* * *

 

A hand fisted itself in his hair, jerking his head up from where it lolled on his chest. He made a weak attempt at pulling away but cruel fingers gripped his jaw and held him in place. He knew something was moving in front of him. It was too dark to see, so he must have heard it, hadn’t he? Everything was… fuzzy. Thoughts slid from his grasp before they could form. The taste of metal hung in the back of his mouth and he swallowed, trying to clear it.

There was hot breath at his ear, scented with onions and something sweet underneath. “Alright pretty boy, smile for the camera.”

A flash of light dazzled him. When he blinked he could see faint afterimages of shelves full of boxes. He couldn’t pinpoint how or why, but he had the distinct impression of very sharp tools nearby.

“I was hoping for the Archivist, or at least a piece of him, but you'll do for now.” Came a different voice, higher pitched, feminine. Maybe? “Don’t worry, we'll teach you the steps to our dance.” A hand with a texture all wrong for human skin brushed lovingly along his face.

Something like panic tried to bubble up through him but didn’t make it past his dizziness and exhaustion. He couldn’t get his body to cooperate when he tried to move. Everything was heavy and slow, he didn’t have the energy to fight.

The hands released their hold on him and he slumped forward in his chair.

 

* * *

 

“Jon? Come on Jon, wake up. Jon!”

The Archivist came to on the floor. He opened his eyes to see a concerned looking Martin kneeling over him. His chair was toppled in a heap behind him and his hip throbbed where he had landed on the floor. Jon was very confused, this was not the room he had been in moments ago.

“What? Where am I?” He squinted in the sudden brightness as he looked around, “What happened?”

“We’re in the Archives. You were taking my statement when I found a photograph of Tim in my coat. When you looked at it you went a bit… distant for a moment before falling out of your chair and passing out.” Martin helped Jon to a sitting position without too much difficulty. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No, that’s alright, I’ll be fine. Besides, you’re in far worse shape than I am.” Climbing to his feet, he righted the chair and sat down. His scalp still prickled and he rubbed his jaw where the pressure of phantom fingers lingered.

On the floor where he’d dropped it Jon saw Tim, framed by a white paper border. One of his vacant looking eyes was starting to swell. Dirt and blood streaked his face. His head was gripped by the same hands Jon remembered from his vision.

Jon raked his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t the first time something like that has happened. Though it was the strongest. And the first time it's come on so suddenly.”

“So that’s how you knew about the mannequins and the peacock.”

“Yeah,” Jon said wearily, “I’d seen it before.”

“Is that good or bad?” Martin asked.

“Seeing as how I don’t seem to have any control over it and it’s causing me to randomly black out? At the very least it's less than ideal.”

“Oh. Well maybe it can help us. What you saw, just now, was it in the Trophy Room or was it somewhere else?”

Jon closed his eyes and focused on remembering. Both locations gave him similar impressions but it didn’t feel like an exact match. “I’m not sure, but I think they must have moved him. Another workshop?”

Jon picked up the Polaroid. “The good news, relatively speaking, is leaving the picture for us was deliberate. They want us to know that he is alive, at least for now. They want something and are planning on using him for leverage.”

_Alright pretty boy, smile for the camera._

Jon shuddered.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying desperately to force his exhausted brain to come up with possible solutions. The picture Tim’s captors left with Martin sat like an accusation in front of the Archivist. If he had been better able to prepare his assistants, if he had gathered more knowledge, if he had taken a stand against Elias; none of this would have happened.

Jon sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying desperately to force his exhausted brain to come up with possible solutions. The picture Tim’s captors left with Martin sat like an accusation in front of the Archivist. If he had been better able to prepare his assistants, if he had gathered more knowledge, if he had taken a stand against Elias; none of this would have happened. 

A moan from the documents room pulled Jon from his self loathing and he got up to investigate. Martin had refused Jon’s offer to take him to a hospital but did eventually agree to bed down on the cot there until he was more fully recovered. Peeking through the cracked door he could see Martin, folded in on himself and twitching occasionally. A small whimper escaped his lips as his face contorted in fear. 

Guilt tugged in Jon’s chest at the sight of him. He never should have let Elias strong arm him in to sending them. Careful not to make too much noise for fear of startling him awake, Jon crossed the room and crouched down next to the bed. Martin’s eyes darted frantically back and forth behind closed eyelids, lost in whatever nightmare had taken him. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” Jon hesitated briefly before reaching out to gently brush away the wayward ginger hair that had fallen into Martin’s face. “You’re safe, everything is going to be alright. I’ll fix this.” At his touch Martin’s face relaxed some and his breathing began to even out. 

“Jon?” Martin pleaded softly, “don’t go.” 

Jon thought he might have woken Martin but his eyes remained closed. Talking in his sleep perhaps? Either way, his assistant seemed so vulnerable and lonely as he lay hugging himself on the cot, to deny his request seemed cruel. Jon wasn’t getting anything done in his office, he could afford to watch over Martin for a while as he tried to think through the problems at hand. 

“Alright Martin, I’ll stay.” 

He found the extra blankets tucked away on a shelf and draped one over Martin. The additional weight relaxed him enough to unwind partially from the tight ball he had curled himself into. Jon wrapped another around himself and settled in the chair.

Martin’s small voice spoke again from under the blankets. “Hold my hand?” 

Now Jon was  _ sure _ Martin was talking in his sleep. He would be mortified to have made such a request out loud despite clearly needing the comfort. It would actually be sweet if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. 

Abandoning the chair, he sat himself on the floor next to the fold out bed with his back against the wall. He rested his arm on the cot it was a bit awkward but Jon managed. Martin’s still too cold fingers wrapped around his own warm hand and held tight. 

“Goodnight, Martin.” Jon whispered. He watched the creases fade from Martin’s face as he relaxed into a more peaceful sleep. A contented murmur was his only reply as the rhythmic rise and fall of Martin’s breathing lulled Jon into his own rest.

 

* * *

 

A pained twinge in his shoulder pulled Jon from his light dose, reminding him he was too old to sleep sitting up on the floor without consequence. According to his watch he’d been asleep for a little over an hour. He felt bad for having wasted time sleeping when Tim was out there going through god knows what. Clearly he’d needed it though, and so had Martin. 

Martin didn’t stir when Jon carefully slipped his hand free of Martin’s now loosened grip. He snored softly, his face untroubled by the worries that settled around his natural optimism whenever he was awake. Jon eased himself from the floor and quietly crept from the room so as not to disturb his sleeping colleague. No, his sleeping friend.

Jon left Martin in the documents room and headed back to his office. There had to be something he can do to help Tim. He poured over the memories of the visions he had. Each successive vision was more vivid but frustratingly lacking in detail; vague impressions that gave him no real clue as to Tim’s location. 

Leaning back to stare at the ceiling, Jon felt Gerard’s burner phone dig into his hip. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Gerard had been at this much longer than Jon, he had knowledge and possibly resources that might be able to help. He pulled it out and flipped it open. The screen informed him there were no new notifications. 

“Shit,” Jon breathed. As per instructions, Jon had deleted all of the messages before he left the pub. It hadn’t occurred to him to memorize the number Gerard had sent his texts from. Opening up the contacts, he found that to be empty as well. So much for that plan. 

“ _ Shit.” _ He closed the phone and replaced it in his pocket, shaking his head at his own stupidity. 

His eyes landed on the Polaroid still sitting on his desk. There  _ had _ to be some reason they left it. Some sort of clue. Tim’s expression didn’t give much away, apparently he’d been hit hard by whatever drug Martin was still sleeping off. Judging from the swelling around his left eye and the blood along his scalp, he had put up more of a fight and had paid for it. The only thing reflected in Tim’s eyes was the camera flash, so no help there. The grimy, calloused fingers held him in place had no rings or tattoos to track down. 

Tim’s face filled most of the frame but in the background, Jon could just about make out something by his ear. Tilting the picture to catch more light he looked closer. It appeared to be the torso of the man holding Tim. On his chest, Jon could just about discern the outline of overalls. 

Jon dropped the picture back on his desk in disgust. “Breekon and fucking Hope, of course they would be involved.” 

He checked the picture again for any clues. He even held it under a lamp to see if there was some kind of message written in invisible ink that might appear but found nothing. Why did they leave it with Martin if there was nothing on it indicating what they  _ want?  _ Was it just to taunt him? Was that all this is? To tell him “We have someone you care about and there’s nothing you can do about it”? 

Anger burned alongside his growing sense of helplessness. He fought the urge to crumple the Polaroid and instead placed it in his desk drawer for safekeeping. 

“I hope you’re not planning on doing anything rash.” Elias’s voice nearly startled Jon out of his chair. “You can’t afford to let your emotions get the better of you.

“Fuck you.” Jon shot up from his chair, nearly knocking it over

Elias looked disappointed. “Now Jon, is that kind of language really necessary?

Jon met his gaze as he strode across the office toward his boss. Elias’s face never wavered as Jon pulled his arm back to punch the older man across the face. 

The blow never landed. Elias moved faster than he would have thought possible, trapping his arm and wrenching it up  _ hard _ behind his back. A strangled cry escaped him as the muscles in his shoulder protested the treatment. 

“That was uncalled for, Jonathan,” he said evenly. “I would much rather discuss things as adults but do not think for a moment that I will not defend myself.”

The bastard wasn’t even breathing hard. Elias’s complete lack of emotional response fed back into his own anger. He managed to twist his arm free and spin away from Elias, putting some distance between the two of them. 

His own breathing was rapid and the blood pounded in his ears. “He’s alive and they want something. I’m going to get him back.” 

“You don’t know that. Jon--”

“I’m not abandoning him. Breekon and Hope are involved somehow. If we can track their delivery van back--”

“Jon, calm down and think this through. If we could track them don’t you think we would have by now?”

“But the CCTV? We can at least get an idea of where they went after they dropped off Martin.”

“It’s not that simple. With these things, it never is.”

“Well then I’ll go look for him myself!”

“I really didn’t want it to have to come to this.” Elias seemed almost sad. “I cannot allow you to take this course of action. You are much too valuable to the Institute to risk over something of so little value.”

Jon fought down the urge to swing at his boss again. “Little value!? Tim is a  _ person _ not a thing. I do not consider him to be of ‘little value’.”

Elias quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I was under the impression that the two of you hadn’t been getting on of late. Has that changed?” The ghost of a smile played across his lips.

Jon was caught off guard by Elias’s tone and sputtered before responding. “T-that doesn’t mean I want him to be killed or turned into some kind of parody of himself if they use his skin to--” 

* * *

 

 

Everything was spinning, the whole world in motion. He couldn’t focus on any one thing. Any time his eyes settled on something it was pulled away in a flash. His feet moved in time with far off music, weaving a pattern with his partner. 

Partner?

A hand gripped his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh. Another pressed on the small of his back, guiding him through the steps, urging him in whatever direction was required. 

There was no face, no body he could discern. He felt the stiff hands that forced him through the dance but saw nothing but light and color spinning, whizzing past. It moved so fast he should be nauseous but there was no growing sickness in him. 

He tried to stop, to pull away but the hands tightened their grip. His screams were met with laughter and applause. 

 

* * *

 

Jon was on his knees with Elias’s hands on his shoulders, softly calling his name. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it but it only made the room spin. If not for Elias’s steadying hands, Jon would have fallen. As soon as he was able, Jon shrugged away from the contact. Elias’s touch felt  _ wrong _ , a parody of caring. Perhaps a few weeks ago Jon would have been fooled, touch starved as he was-- still is. Now that he had something to compare it to he saw it for the hollow imitation of human intimacy it really was. 

“What did you see, Archivist?” Elias crouched down and placed his hands back on Jon’s shoulders. 

“Don’t touch me.” Jon tried to pull away again but Elias tightened his grip. He stared _ into _ Jon. The gaze made him feel naked, vulnerable, laid bare before the older man. Jon shifted again, this time turning his head away only to have Elias’s hand on his jaw bringing it back around to force eye contact. 

He was more frantic to get away now, squirming in his grip. Elias grabbed the back of Jon’s skull with his other hand in response, threading fingers through Jon’s hair and digging them into the nape of his neck. Jon wanted to close his eyes but something in him wouldn’t allow the action. Jon could feel layers of… something (himself maybe?) being peeled away under Elias’s gaze. The grip on Jon’s head was a steel vise that he could not break despite his struggles. He felt a tear roll down his face, then another. 

Jon’s vision flashed white then black as pressure built up behind his eyes. Sharp pain lanced through his skull but was gone before he truly registered its severity. The pressure in his head released in a sudden burst of color and sensation, too fast to comprehend. Glimpses from his previous visions assaulted him, but mixed in among them were flashes of Tim. Tim waggling his eyebrows at Jon. Kissing Tim at a takeaway. Tim, obliviously covered in marks from Gerard’s lipstick-

“Ah, I see.” Elias said at last, suddenly releasing his grip on Jon. “Well that certainly… complicates matters.”

Jon, collapsed backward onto the floor, gasping for breath as Elias stood and crossed to his desk. Whatever fight they’d just had, Jon had lost and lost badly. Hands shaking and breath ragged, Jon collected himself the best he could, wiping the tears from his face. There were far more than he remembered shedding, how long had that gone on? It couldn't have been more than a few seconds but... 

Elias punched a button on the phone on the desk and began speaking in a low voice into the receiver. A short time later he dimly heard someone approach his office from the Archives. Indistinct voices discussed something over his head, metaphorically and literally. He was utterly exhausted, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Jon thought he heard his name but it wasn’t directed to him, only about him. 

  
Strong arms hooked under his and pulled him to his feet. They didn’t belong to Elias, but were thinner, sharper, and meaner. This felt wrong, something was very wrong. He had to focus, to pull the shattered pieces of himself together and fight back. 

Daisy. It was Daisy who still had him under the arms. A distant part of him marveled that Elias was able to call her in so quickly at such a late hour. Jon managed to get his feet under him but Daisy was still supporting most of his weight. Standing more fully on his own he shifted away and she let him. Mostly. There was still a hand on one arm, leading him out of the office. 

He was vaguely aware that Elias was talking. “--needs to be contained, he cannot be allowed to leave the Institute until the situation has been dealt with properly.”

_ That _ cut through the cloud of confusion fogging his brain. He managed to wrench free of Daisy and took a step away. He saw the gleam in her eye, when he held a hand up in defense. She seemed excited at the prospect of violence. 

“Elias, please,” he nearly wept.

“Jon, I’m afraid I really must insist.” 

His eyes cast frantically about the room, to Elias, Daisy, the door, and back to Elias. Taking a step back, he contemplated the odds of getting through the office door past the Archives and escaping. Not good, Daisy was directly between him and the door. Even if he made it past her she was quick enough that it wouldn’t take more than a step or two for her to catch up to him in the Archives. 

_ Fuck it, might as well go down fighting. _

Jon bolted for the door. Even in peak physical condition, he never would have made it. Daisy threw out an arm, catching him across the throat. He tried to stop or swerve from the clothesline but his inertia carried him into her forearm. He bounced off, coughing. 

She laughed. 

Of course Daisy would laugh. 

Jon eyed the door again as he shifted himself into something like a fighting stance. Daisy’s eyebrows raised and she slowly shook her head as she watched Jon try to put up a fight. 

“You’re going to break your thumb if you try to throw a punch like that, Sims,” she scoffed.

In the moment it took Jon to contemplate fists and how to turn his hand into one, Daisy had moved. She batted away Jon’s attack and slipped behind him. Wrapping her arm around his neck Daisy braced her other arm against it. She held him there, applying pressure to the sides of his neck squeezing his arteries in a sleeper hold. Jon could hear the pulse pounding in his ears as his vision faded at the edges. He clawed at her arms, but she did not relinquish her hold. She lowered him to the floor as he knees gave way beneath him. The last thing he heard before blacking out was her harsh laugh in his ear. 

 

* * *

 

For the second time in as many hours pain in his shoulder woke him on the floor of the documents room. This time he wasn’t propped up against the cot next to Martin but in a heap just inside the door. He he sat up with a groan and rubbed his aching shoulder. Daisy must have dropped him on the hard floor when she moved him in here. It’s a small mercy that he didn’t crack his skull in the process, though the inside of his head is pounding as if she did. He runs an experimental hand over his throat and swallows. Nothing seems to be damaged or overly tender, the former detective knew what she was doing when she knocked him cold. 

On the cot, Martin was lightly snoring, sleeping deeply enough to be blissfully unaware of Jon. It was probably a good think he slept through the altercation. Jon didn’t want to think about what could have happened to Martin if he had tried to go up against Daisy in his current state. 

Jon adjusted his glasses and heaved himself to his feet. He swayed momentarily before steadying himself and walking to the door. 

Locked. 

Of course it was locked. The Archivist sighed and peered through the window. He could just about make out Daisy on the other side. He couldn’t hear her, the soundproofing saw the that. She looked like she was talking to someone, probably Elias if he had to guess. He tried the handle again and pounded on the door. If she heard him she gave no indication. 

“Damn.” Jon rested his pounding head on the cool glass and waited. 

It wasn’t long before they finished their conversation and Elias passed by the window. He didn’t even look at Jon as he left the Archives. 

“Elias!” Jon yelled, hammering on the door, “Let me out of here! Get back here goddammit!  _ Elias!” _

“Jon?”

“Oh! Martin,” Jon startled and spun around to face him, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Wha’s going on?” Martin slurred. He shifted like he was mustering the energy to sit up.  

Jon rushed over and gently pressed him back down to the bed, tucking the blankets around him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He placed a comforting hand on Martin’s shoulder and shot him a smile full of calm he did not feel

“If you say so…” His eyes slipped closed and he relaxed back on to the cot. 

A soft knock on the glass pulled Jon’s attention from Martin’s sleeping form. He turned around to see Daisy staring at him with sharp eyes. The Archivist had the distinct impression of being prey. 

_ “You,”  _ she mouthed through the glass,  _ “stay there.” _ He nodded in acknowledgement and waited for her to make her move. The lock clicked and the door opened a few inches. 

“I need you to let me out of here.” Jon pleaded “Tim is--”

“Don’t care,” she cut him off, stepping into the doorway. “I have my orders. Elias says you stay put so you stay put.” 

“ _ Please--” _

“You didn’t hear me.” Daisy said with deliberate care like she was speaking down to a child. “I said I don’t care.” 

He looked behind her, desperate for a way to get past. She caught his eye and held up her finger silencing him before he started to speak again. “I’ve got some bottles of water and a bucket for you and that one there.” She tilted her head to indicate Martin. “Talk back to me again and I keep the bucket. Understand?” 

Jon balled his hands into fists but bit back his frustration and nodded. 

“Good. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. If you’ve calmed down then you and Elias can work out whatever spat the two of you are having. I suggest you get some sleep, you look like hell.” She turned to go. 

“Detect--” 

Daisy tossed the bucket of water bottles into the room and slammed the door, locking it behind her. The noise startled Martin awake who sat up in bed with a yelp of surprise. His eyes shot around the room taking stock of the situation. 

“Okay seriously, what is going on?” Martin demanded, now fully awake.

Jon sighed. “I had a fight with Elias. It didn’t go well and he had Daisy lock us in here so we can’t go after Tim.” 

“Oh,” Martin considered his hands as he fidgeted with the hem of a blanket. “That’s… not good.”

“No, it’s not. And I didn’t even manage to land a punch on the smug bastard.” Jon lamented. 

“Wait, you threw a  _ punch? _ At  _ Elias!?” _

Jon nodded sheepishly. “For all the good it did me.” He sat down heavily in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Everything has gone to hell. Tim has been kidnapped and instead of going after him we’re both locked down in the Archive. I suppose we could try and break through the wall to the tunnels but I think Elias had it reinforced when it was rebuilt after the attack. I’m just... I’m just so  _ tired.” _

“Well it is half past three in the morning. No one sane is awake at this hour on purpose.

The corner of Jon’s lip twitched in a brief smile. “I suppose not. I’m not keen on sleeping here knowing Elias will be waiting for me when I wake up. We need to get out of here,” he groaned. 

“I might be able to help with that.” Martin offered.

“What?”

“Melanie’s lock picks, they’re still in my coat pocket. Unless Daisy took them?”

“I don’t think she would have gone through your things. Elias was pretty focused on keeping me from leaving the Institute. It’s just bad luck you happened to be here.” 

Martin grabbed his coat and rummaged through the pockets. “Well, in this case my bad luck is your good luck.” He produced a set of lock picks with a grin. “Looks like we’re getting out of here after all.” 

Jon got up and looked out the window. “We should probably wait a bit, just in case Daisy is still hanging around. I’m not really feeling up for a round two.” He glanced to Martin. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better actually. I’m pretty sure the drugs have worn off and what’s left over is just normal levels of tired for being woken up at this ungodly hour.” 

“Sorry about that.”    
  
“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t you it was  _ her.  _ Besides, if I hadn’t woken up you wouldn’t have thought of picking the lock.”

“True.”

Martin toyed with the picks for a moment before settling on a snake pick. He fit the tension wrench into the keyhole and set to work. The lock was old and it was slow going. Several times Martin thought he had it before the last pin finally clicked into place and the lock turned. 

_ “Yes!” _ Martin hissed under his breath. 

“Well done!” Jon clapped a celebratory hand on Martin’s back causing him to blush and duck his head. 

Easing the door open, Jon peeked his head out. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and he waved to Martin. “I think she’s gone. Let’s go.”

They crept through the Archives out of the Institute without incident. Jon led them away from the building, occasionally taking random turns. He wasn’t sure it would help, but it made him feel a bit better. The night had turned bitter cold but at least the rain had stopped. The two weary men leaned on each other for warmth and support as the fled the Magnus Institute. 

Jon jumped in surprise when his pocket started buzzing. He jostled Martin slightly to dig in his pocket. 

“Who’s calling you at this hour?” Exhaustion threaded through Martin’s voice as he came down from the adrenaline high of their escape. 

“A friend, someone who can help.” He read the message on the screen and smiled. “He’s coming to pick us up and take us somewhere safe.” Jon glanced up at the street sign and punched in an address on the keypad.

“Thank Christ,” Marin groaned, “because I’ve only got about another two blocks left in me. I feel like I’m about to collapse in the gutter.” 

Jon tucked the phone away and wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist as Martin started to sink tiredly against him. Martin jumped a bit before relaxing and letting Jon support some of his weight. “That’s understandable, you’ve had quite the day.” 

“So have you,” Martin mumbled. He blinked slowly and let his head fall on Jon’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. Almost as soon as he’d done it his eyes shot wide and he jerked himself upright, pulling from Jon’s grasp. “Sorry! I-I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean--”

“It-- It’s fine,” Jon soothed, approaching Martin like a wounded animal. 

“I know you’re not-- um, not the touchy feely type. I didn’t mean to…” 

“Calm down, Martin. I said it was alright.”

“But--”   


“I’ve been making an effort to be less closed off from people. I’ve been told by a reliable source that isolation isn’t good for me,” he paused, “isn’t good for any of us really.” Jon held out an arm and Martin took a hesitant step toward him. 

“If you’re sure?” Martin’s face flickered, wary of some kind of trap but desperately craving the affection.  

“Yes, I’m sure.” He extended his arm further. “Now get over here, it’s cold."

After a beat of consideration, Martin finally took the invitation. He buried his face in Jon’s chest, clutching him like a man afraid of drowning. 

“ _ Oof!  _ Okay, I do need to breathe occasionally though.” Jon clapped his hand on Martin’s back twice and rested his arm around his shoulders.

“Oh! Sorry!” Martin relaxed his hug and would have stepped away but for Jon’s hand on his shoulder, maintaining the embrace. They stood awkwardly in a sort of half hug for a while, neither quite knowing what to say.  

A nondescript silver sedan broke the tension by pulling smoothly to the curb and parking in front of the two men. “That’ll be Our Gerard.” Jon said brightly, feeling actual hope for the first time since this mess began. 

“Gerard?” Martin asked incredulously. “As in Gerard Keay?” 

“The very same.” 

“Isn’t he dead?”

“You know,” Jon said, opening the door to the back seat. “I never actually thought to ask.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quietly changes number of chapters from "6" back to "?"*
> 
> There is an end, I promise but the plot keeps growing like some kind of monster pig before I have a chance to fully contain it

**Author's Note:**

> I am firmly on team Gerard's Not Dead He's Just Hiding
> 
> "Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call." is the quote under Gerard's eye painting. It being crossed out is a reference to one of the deluxe transcripts from The Magnus Archives Patreon where the Archivist had crossed it out and then jotted a little note about not remembering having done that and apologizing.


End file.
